


WILDEST DREAMS

by theunmappedstar



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Book 1: Keeper of the Lost Cities, Book 2: Exile, Book 3: Everblaze, Book 4: Neverseen, Book 5: Lodestar, Book 6: Nightfall, Book 7: Flashback, Book 8: Legacy, Confessions, Crushes, Crying, Explicit Language, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot Post-Legacy, Romance, Spoilers for Book 8: Legacy, THEY EAT COOKIES, There's a lot of crying, but she can't deny it forever, he fails, keefe tries to dance around the topic, oh yeah her echoes aren't done just yet, ok so i don't know how to write keefe, sophie is keefe's safe place, sophie makes the first move? sorta?, sophie still feels guilty about everything with fitz, sophie tries to deny what she wants, tho keefe backs her into a wall, you can lie with your thoughts but not with your feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunmappedstar/pseuds/theunmappedstar
Summary: Sometimes the only option is to embrace the change -or it will destroy you.
Relationships: Sophie Foster & Fitz Vacker (if you squint), Sophie Foster/Keefe Sencen
Comments: 410
Kudos: 422
Collections: sokeefe shit!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> legacy HIT ME EVERYWHERE so here's a HAPPY ONESHOT ("oneshot" lol. it was originally supposed to be a oneshot and then it turned into this beast) set after legacy because i can NO LONGER HANDLE PAIN  
> again, if you didn't catch it: MAJOR LEGACY SPOILERS! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED ALL OF LEGACY  
> you can find a playlist for the fic on my spotify - the playlist is named “wildest dreams” by projectmoonlark  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1eprJGS1Lw9miiF0tBjDCh?si=iOs8fd3YRj2fyOgE2BRmSA  
> 

KEEFE MADE A SOFT SOUND, close to a snore mixed with a snort, causing Sophie to squeak in surprise. She nearly dropped her pencil by jolting her legs and she had to grasp down immediately to ensure her notebook didn’t slide from her lap.  
  


Sandor and Flori all perked up at the scuffle, staring at Sophie from the wall across the room. Ro had honed in on the sound as well, pausing in picking under her nails in a bored manner with one of her many shiny daggers.  
  


Sophie looked over at Keefe in a light alarm. Her heart battered in her chest as she tried to listen for any other noises he was making. If he made any other noise after that, though, it was drowned out by the insistent pounding in her ears.  
  


Sophie released the breath she’d been holding. She shot a hesitant thumbs up at her bodyguards once she knew Keefe was fine.   
  


_Fine_. The word bounced around the cavern of her head.  
  


Keefe wasn’t fine. The better word would be undisturbed. Keefe was far from fine, given that he was in a coma.  
  


Sophie’s stomach churned at the bitter reminder of why she was in the Healing Center.   
  


It had been two weeks since the events in Loamnore had unfolded, and the thought of what had happened still kicked Sophie in the gut every time she had to see Keefe’s sweaty form crumpled in the Healing Center cot. She had since made it a point to visit him once every morning and every evening, even staying the night with him when her schedule allowed it.  
  


At first she’d fought to stay glued to his side, but she had been quickly reminded of the dreaded deal she’d made with Oralie to help the Councillor figure out the situation with her cache. And how she needed to investigate Glimmer further, then follow up with how Tam and Linh were doing. _And_ how she was technically the leader of a team which she _technically_ had to keep in order. . .  
  


She had finally caved after three days of her bodyguards fighting to convince her that she had done enough and needed a break. Ro had even joined in, promising she could handle Keefe on her own.  
  


She leapt home to take a long, steamy shower before busying herself with Regent assignments and hailing Dex for a two-hour-long conversation about how caches functioned until she found the time to stumble back to the Healing Center, half-asleep.  
  


Keefe had been. . . pretty unresponsive over the two weeks. It was good, she supposed, that he often made tiny noises or twitched. She couldn’t handle having to sit with him if he weren’t so life-like. She was sure her brain would think he was dead.  
  


And that was something she never wanted to have the burden of imagining, much less living through.  
  


Sophie looked over to the edge of her cot to peer at the slip of paper she’d set there, hoping to distract herself from those dark thoughts. The paper had a schedule scrawled on it, which she’d created for herself. She glanced back at the clock on the wall to check the time.   
  


Sophie had refused to let Elwin brush her off, demanding she get to help Keefe in some way with his recovery. Elwin had attempted to explain the work that went into it, saying she should be focusing on something more productive than wasting time sitting in the Healing Center. He claimed that he, Livvy, and Ro had Keefe’s situation and protection under full control, and while Sophie didn’t doubt that Keefe was in good hands, she was desperate to have something to do.  
  


Some part of her probably felt like she owed it to Keefe, after everything he’d endured and stuck through for her, but another part of her simply yearned to be by his side. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t get the thought of him out of her head, no matter what she tried to occupy herself with.   
  


There was no way she could be distracted from his unavoidable truth.   
  


So, from the minute Elwin granted her wish, she had been almost inseparable from Keefe.  
  


Elwin and Livvy focused on the most important (or intimate) things, like Keefe’s hygiene (which involved things like dental cleaning and sponge baths) and his medicine. But Sophie got to do some important things, too, like having a shift where she got to watch over him herself, or little chores where she would periodically help him change positions in the cot so that he didn’t develop any bed sores.  
  


She was due to help him resettle any minute, so she decided it was best to wrap up the overdue homework she was grappling with.  
  


That was when she noticed a change in Keefe’s typically steady breathing pattern.  
  


It was an odd sound, something plush and frumpy-like, with air to it — like laundry on a line, battering itself in the wind. In alarm, Sophie whipped her head over to the source, which turned out to be Keefe on his cot.  
  


Sophie watched as Keefe spasmed almost uncontrollably, kicking and convulsing in the most horrific way. She could almost envision him foaming at the mouth, eyes blank and white. His jolting caused Mrs. Stinkbottom to topple off the bed and onto the tile floor and Sophie barely had time to suck in a breath before she was throwing back her covers and screaming for a physician, sending the bodyguards into their own frenzied panic.

  
“Elwin!” Sophie shouted, bolting up from her bed. Her notebook flew out of her lap, sliding across the floor under Keefe’s cot. Sophie didn’t pay any attention to it, though, eyes wide and terrified as she grasped onto Keefe’s shoulders, trying to keep him steady. “ _Elwin!_ ”  
  


Sophie sent a quick transmission, hoping it would assure him that there was no reason to worry. _Keefe, Keefe it’s fine! It’s okay!  
  
_

Even if he got it and understood it, he wouldn’t stop shaking erratically in Sophie’s arms.  
  


Elwin burst into the room, his disheveled hair matching his alarmed expression. “What’s going on?!” He ran to Keefe’s other side, and when Ro tried to join him, he ordered her to stay back. It was more bark-like than intended, and Ro was left snarling as Elwin began snapping his fingers, swiftly creating orbs around Keefe’s shuddering form.  
  


“I don’t know what happened!” Sophie cried, chest snapping tight as she looked at Keefe. Her eyes began to water with her revving panic. “One minute he was laying there and then this started happening!”  
  


Elwin continued to inspect Keefe speedily through his spectacles before turning to Sophie. “I think you should hail Mr. Forkle. And we’ll need Tam here, too. But first I’m going to need you to help me with getting him to swallow some medicine.”  
  


Elwin shuffled back into the room he had come from in a hurry, and Sophie whirled to run after him, halting in the doorway to watch him shuffle through a wall of vials. “Why? What’s happening?!”  
  


Elwin’s reply knocked the air from her lungs. “I don’t know for sure, but it looks similar to what happened when your echoes stirred.”  
  


Sophie sucked in a sharp breath, hand crawling over her heart as Elwin dashed back to Keefe’s bedside. “It has to do with shadows? Or shadowflux?”  
  


“Tilt his head back, and hold his mouth open,” Elwin ordered, disregarding her question as his hands fumbled to uncork the glass vial. Sophie grabbed Keefe’s jaw with her fingers as gently as she could, mentally apologizing as she tilted his head back and forced his mouth open.   
  


Elwin poured the shimmering gold liquid into his mouth leisurely, taking time to let Keefe swallow the tiny amounts before the whole elixir was eventually gone. A little trail made its way down Keefe’s chin as she closed his mouth and she wiped it away with her sleeve, focusing on taking deep breaths when the seizing didn’t stop.  
  


“Is he going to be okay?”  
  


“It should help him to stop. It might take a little bit.”  
  


Elwin had to practically pry Sophie away from him after that, raising his voice at her to get her attention. She was half-listening though, eyes blurred with tears as he ordered her to hail Mr. Forkle and Tam.  
  


Ro and her own bodyguards were trying to comfort her as they ushered her out of the room. She almost couldn't make herself turn away from Keefe, taking steps backwards as she watched him through teary eyes. Sandor put his meaty hand softly over her shaking shoulder before she crashed into the door, turning her around and escorting her outside.  
  


On her way out, Sophie caught sight of Bullhorn snuggled into his tiny bed against the wall. She tried to grip onto that mental image as she grasped in her pockets for her Imparter, getting ready to hail Mr. Forkle.  
  


Sophie waited a few seconds for Sandor to close the door and take his position along the hallway before she ordered the hail into the Imparter. Sophie was resisting the urge to tug and pull and fidget with everything. She ripped out a loose eyelash for good measure.  
  


Mr Forkle picked up within a few dial tones. When his face filled the screen, Sophie saw that he was in his pudgy disguise. She could practically smell the ruckleberries. “Miss Foster, is everything—”  
  


“Keefe’s having seizures,” Sophie blurted. “We need you and Tam to come to the Healing Center. Elwin says it looks a lot like what happened with Fitz and my echoes.”  
  


Mr Forkle’s eyes flew open, looking stunned. He caught the ball of information being flung at his head with swift reflexes, focusing on the task at hand. He calmly moved forward to the next question, asking, “He’s alright?”  
  


“Not really,” Sophie revealed, chewing on her lip.  
  


“And Mr. Sencen isn’t awake?”  
  


Sophie confessed a disheartened, “No.” Even though she was well aware of it, saying it aloud made her heart sink like a stone. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wished that with all the ruckus and commotion, he would have found some way to force himself awake.  
  


Mr. Forkle was pacing on the other end of the call. His brow was knit and eyes downcast as he muttered to himself, half in thought. Finally, he announced, “I’ll hail Mr. Tam and Mr. Vacker. We’ll arrive shortly.”  
  


“Wait, what?” Sophie halted, her pulse faltering. “Why do we need Fitz?”  
  


“As much as I hate to suggest it, Miss Foster, it could be something mental. And I’m very aware of how well you and Mr. Vacker work together.”  
  


Hearing the possibility of something being damaged in Keefe’s head made Sophie’s stomach queasy. The Fitz comment had the same effect.  
  


Sophie wanted to argue that that was before they’d endured a rocky split. Since then they’d been working on repatching their friendship, and it was going a lot smoother than Sophie had anticipated, but she’d yet to work on an official telepathy assignment with Fitz again, and she wasn’t sure where he stood on working with something so critical by her side, again. He’d been fine with trust exercises, though, so Sophie had to hope that if it came down to it, he would be willing to work with her to help Keefe.  
  


Sophie swallowed. “Alright.”

○  
  


KEEFE WAS STILL lightly quivering when Tam, Fitz, and Mr. Forkle arrived at Foxfire, entering the Healing Center.  
  


The bulk of it had crested already, thankfully, and it was clear that the medicine had begun to set into his system because his thrashing limbs had turned to miniature twitches.  
  


Tam and Fitz raced over to both sides of Keefe’s cot instantly, taking in the sight of their ill friend as Elwin brought them up to speed on what had happened, how quickly Keefe’s vitals had tanked, and how it seemed to have something to do with shadows. Sophie and Fitz had shared a brief look at the mention of their echoes as Tam rubbed his arms, rolling up his sleeves in preparation.  
  


Mr. Forkle and Elwin stood at the foot of the bed as Tam set to work on trying to read Keefe’s shadows, while Sophie and Fitz stood next to each other, waiting in anticipation. Sophie kept her eyes glued on Keefe’s forehead, watching the way his brow which twisted and flicked, an occasional v forming between his eyebrows. If Sophie hadn’t known what had happened to Keefe, she would have thought he was sleeping.  
  


Sophie tried to ignore the way Tam’s shadow shifted over Keefe, slinking along the length of his trembling body. She pushed away from the mental image of Keefe being consumed by shadowflux, the pooling substance acting all too animal-like as it slithered its way up his limbs, surrounding his torso, stretching towards his mouth—  
  


No. No, she had to focus on the positive things. Like how Keefe’s vitals had been holding steady after their brief downturn, how his nightmares had ceased, how his heartbeat had continued to thump with its regular, strong pattern.  
  


Still, Sophie’s mouth ran dry when Tam's shadow pulled back. His hands were shaking with effort. His forehead was glistening with a light sheen of sweat that Sophie hadn't even noticed had formed. His face looked haunted. "It's. . . a mess.”  
  


"What?" Sophie asked, needing clarification. "What do you mean it's a mess?" Her eyes darted back and forth from Keefe's twitching form to Tam's glazed eyes.   
  


"His shadow balance. . . It's all over. It's fluctuating in his brain, like crazy. It's as if. . ."  
  


"It's as if what?" Fitz prodded, looking just as concerned as Sophie. She stared at Keefe, face crushed with lines of worry as she sent out a silent plea to the universe that he would be alright.  
  


"He's. . ." Tam stole a look at everyone in the room, glancing at Mr. Forkle, who was surprisingly silent as he stood. Elwin was beside him, looking like it was taking every cell in his body to restrain himself from giving Keefe a sedative.  
  


Tam swallowed, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. "He's fighting the change. Gisela talked about it a little while I was. . . There." He cut himself off.  
  


Sophie's voice grew involuntarily hushed. "What does that. . . mean?" She waited for Tam to meet her wide eyes before she risked another glance back at Keefe. "Tam, what does that mean?"  
  


Tam ran a stressed hand through his hair again. "I don't know for sure. It was just a bunch of theories she had about how it could go wrong. If Keefe rejects the transformation, which it looks like he is, then she said he'd. . . 'Stay dormant.'"  
  


" _Dormant_." Sophie gave a barked, bitter laugh. "So much for not treating her son like an experiment."  
  


No one knew how to respond to it. Fitz placed a comforting hand on Sophie's arm, and she was more than grateful for the gesture. But she didn't have the time to thank him for it.  
  


Fitz seemed to be aware of that, too, saying, "What does she mean by dormant?"  
  


Tam bit the inside of his cheek, messing with his sleeves. "I'd assume it means that he'd. . . stay like this. Stay asleep until he's ready to accept what's happening with his body."  
  


"Embrace the change," Sophie repeated in a murmur. She ran a hand down her face. "So, he needs to. . . _Allow_ his body to. . . Change like. . . _This_. . . Before he can wake up?" The disgust in her voice was heavy.  
  


"I believe," Mr. Forkle announced from the end of the cot, getting their attention, "that Mr. Tam is referring to a mental phenomenon. It's simply a theory for the time being, but it sounds very similar to a state of comatose in which the. . . Patient's consciousness flees to a state of hallucinations and dreams. Think of it as a dreamland that he has retreated to; it's a form of denial, or a way of coping with what is to come. It is possible that his mind has cocooned itself to stay safe from the reality he refuses to face."  
  


Sophie tried not to imagine what other words Mr. Forkle had been going to use to replace 'patient'. But her mind still stretched to wrap around the word _victim_. "So, he's _just_ dreaming?"  
  


She’d been monitoring the activity in his mind for two weeks, and the only time she’d seen him dreaming was once, right after she carried him from Loamnore to the Healing Center. That could barely even be called a dream, though. It had been more of a twisted nightmare. With cookies.  
  


"It is usually not flat dreams, Miss Foster. He has some control over these; free will, if you may. The dreamland is specifically tailored to each individual who is stuck inside. Whether it be their view of the world, or their goals and wants, the mind makes the host cling to it for protection. It is not easy to wake an individual up from this state — if Mr. Sencen is truly in one of these dreams, it is because he wants to stay there."  
  


Sophie didn't know what to do with all of that information. It felt like a big bulging suitcase that she didn't even want to begin to unpack. "Keefe's consciously fighting this? Because he knows what will happen if he gives in like his Mom wants?"  
  


"He rejected it by choice, yes," Mr. Forkle agreed. "But if he's stuck in a hallucination or a dream, he won't be aware of why he's there. Again, it's all apart of the mind shrouding what it does not wish to return to. Think of it as an alternate reality."  
  


"He has no idea he's in a coma right now," Sophie whispered. Her eyebrows laced together on her forehead as she looked down at him, frowning softly.  
  


She bit the inside of her lip, reaching forward to brush some of the sweaty strands of hair from Keefe's face. She didn't care that it was maybe too affectionate of a gesture to put on display for everyone else in the room, because if what Mr. Forkle was saying was true. . . If Keefe had put himself in a dream-state on an endless loop, just to prevent himself from waking up to face his legacy. . .  
  


"We can wake him up, right?" Fitz asked. Sophie could imagine his Adam's apple bobbing as his voice wobbled lightly. It was good to know she wasn't the only one freaking out over the stakes of the situation, but it also made her chest tighten at how it made it clear this was something to be worried over.  
  


Her eyes burned as she faced Mr. Forkle. "There has to be some way we can get him out of it."  
  


"And we can work together," Fitz added, and his voice sounded like it had some hope tucked behind it. Sophie tried not to let it lift her heart too much, though, because Mr. Forkle still had yet to form an answer for them.  
  


Mr. Forkle looked like he was contemplating what to say. "It's not impossible," he concurred. "But it's difficult. Mr. Sencen doesn't want to wake up, so not only will you have to make him aware, but you'll have to convince him to come back and to — as his mother phrased it — embrace this change."  
  


"We can do it," Sophie promised without missing a beat. "I can—"  
  


Fitz grabbed her wrist as she went to slide her fingers over Keefe's temples. Sophie narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, eyebrows crashing together, and when she turned, Mr. Forkle was still looking at her intently.  
  


"It will take a large toll on you, Miss Foster. And you have gotten much less rest, recently, than I would prefer."  
  


"I agree with that," Elwin added, causing Sophie to glare at him. "He’s right, Sophie," Elwin admitted gently. "You're running yourself too hard. You lead a team during the day, spread yourself over thousands of projects, and then come here and barely get a sold five hours of sleep every night."  
  


"I take power naps," Sophie grumbled, wishing Fitz and Tam didn't look like they agreed with the adults. She blushed in shame.  
  


Tam fidgeted with his sleeves some more. Sophie's eyes flicked to it, and it made her stomach churn, knowing she'd never witnessed Tam putting his anxieties on display in that way before. Usually, it was a tiny brush of his bangs or a wave of his hands. "If Keefe is stuck in this dream state. . . Shouldn't we try to get him out of it as soon as possible?"  
  


Fitz nodded. "It seems like the longer he's in it, the more attached he'd become to that alternate-reality."  
  


"Or the more real he'd believe it was, if he's not even aware that it's not real," Tam included.  
  


Mr. Forkle sighed as Elwin mumbled something about 'getting sedatives just in case' and disappeared into his office. "Mr. Sencen can wait a couple of hours if it means your performance would improve by—"  
  


"I have Fitz," Sophie argued. "He can give me boosts of energy when I need them."  
  


"I can," Fitz acknowledged, bobbing his dark head. "And I can stop her if she pushes herself too hard." Mr Forkle didn't look convinced, so he added, "I can stay connected to Sophie's mind to monitor how she's doing — that'd keep her safer."  
  


"He'll pull me out if I'm too hard on myself," Sophie promised. Both Telepaths locked eyes and nodded at each other to confirm the forming plan before turning to Mr. Forkle.   
  


Elwin returned to his side at the end of the bed, then, hands filled with three colourful emergency vials. Sophie didn’t want to know what they were for, why Elwin thought he might need them, or why they were blazing neon.  
  


Mr Forkle seemed tired as he released another sigh. “It’s just not that uncomplicated, Miss Foster. Even with Mr. Vacker to aid you, it may not be enough.”  
  


“ _Why_?” Sophie had to ask. “The longer we leave Keefe like that, the higher the risk he’ll stay like this.” She gestured wildly to his crippling state.  
  


A frown curled Mr. Forkle’s lips. He stalked to Tam’s side of the bed, and Tam scooted aside as the currently-pudgy Black Swan leader studied Keefe from head to toe, as if searching for any injuries. Keefe’s shaking had subsided, decreasing to a few jolts of his leg or flicks of his hand here and there. He was as pale as the cot.   
  


Mr. Forkle’s eyebrows knitted together in solemn sympathy. “You only get so much time, I’m afraid. It will take a few minutes, but once his mind recognizes it has an intruder in its dream mechanism, it will shut you out. It will not allow the individual to awaken.”  
  


The room went silent. The only thing audible was the occasional whine or hum or whimper from Keefe, or the rustle of the bedsheets as he kicked. Or Ro cursing under her breath in her language.  
  


Sophie swallowed, eyes burning.  
  


One shot. She would only get _one shot_ to save Keefe, and she had a time limit, too.  
  


“His mind can’t put up barriers strong enough to block Sophie, though, right?” Tam asked suddenly.  
  


“That’s right!” Ro exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Blondie has Grade A DNA!”  
  


Her heart swelled with white-hot hope as she flashed her gaze to meet her creator’s. _Yes. Yes._ One good reason for tweaked genes!  
  


But her heart plummeted at the same pace when Mr. Forkle made aware, “That may be true, but just because she can re-enter does not mean his mind will truly accept her: and it definitely will not begin to consider her coaxing. It will not pay mind to any disruption after the first try.”  
  


Sophie reverted back to sulking. Her shoulders drooped at how blunt Mr. Forkle was and how high the stakes were continuing to rise.  
  


“Hey,” Fitz murmured, nudging Sophie after she fell silent. He waited until she lifted her head to look at him with reluctance before he filled her mind with his voice.  
  


 _I know. . . What happened between us was super rough, but you can trust me on this. I’ll give you all the energy I have if it means you can save Keefe._ He broke eye contact to glance at his friend. _I just want you to know I’m not totally unreliable. I can suck, I admit that, but. . . This is serious.  
  
_

 _I know_ , Sophie promised. _I haven’t. . . found a way to brush off what happened with us, but I think that’s good. We’re learning our limits. It can’t always be sunshine — so. . . we might as well learn from the thunder.  
  
_

Fitz cracked a smile and it almost made her lips twitch, too. _Learn from the thunder_ , he repeated. _I like that.  
  
_

“Ugh, none of that staring into each other’s eyes stuff,” Ro groaned from the corner, earning her glares from Sandor and Flori. Fitz blushed.  
  


Mr. Forkle cleared his throat. “I’m _assuming_ the smiles mean you’ve reached a conclusion?” he queried. He had one eyebrow raised as he looked at the two of them in suspense.  
  


Sophie swallowed after she felt Fitz’s warm consciousness drift out of her own, and she turned to the sound of Mr. Forkle’s voice. She was proud that her voice held steady as she confessed, “I think. . . I want to be spontaneous.”  
  


Sandor snorted from the corner of the room. Sophie heard him grumble something about the last time she had been spontaneous, and she tried to blot it out, knowing he was just concerned for her and her friends’ safety. Even if it was the first sound he’d made the entire day they’d been there, she didn’t want to think about his contribution.  
  


Tam shifted to sitting on a nearby cot as Sophie and Fitz moved to new positions on the same side of the bed. Fitz squatted next to Sophie, and because he was tall, the top of his head was level with her stomach. Sophie herself had curled herself on the edge of the bed, right next to Keefe’s torso. She wiped the new glistening sweat off his forehead before digging inside her heart for the switch to turn on her enhancing. When she found the familiar string in her chest, she imagined plucking it like a guitar string, and soon she felt the familiar thrum of energy in fingertips as she intertwined her hand with Fitz’s. They winced from the jolt, taking a few seconds to adjust to the power sizzling between them.  
  


“I’ll monitor you and Mr. Vacker if I see anything that draws my attention.”   
  


That was _very_ broad, but Sophie chose not to point it out. Specifically when Elwin piped up.  
  


“I’ll be on standby for medical emergencies,” the physician promised. “And I’d like to check Mr. Sencen’s vitals periodically throughout this.”  
  


“I can try to help him balance his shadows, too,” Tam offered, shifting his eyes to Mr. Forkle. Sophie was surprised when he agreed with the idea.  
  


Then they all shared looks for a moment. Sophie blew out a steady breath as she checked to make sure Fitz was ready. A few hesitant nods later, and she was squeezing Fitz’s hand as tight as the first time they’d met. She was left to stare at Keefe’s blank face.  
  


 _He’s calm. That’s why he’s not moving. It’s a good thing_ , she tried to convince herself. Still, she hated the way she couldn’t do something as simple as strike up a conversation with him.  
  


Sophie took one last deep inhale as she looked over Keefe slowly, soaking up the image of him before she pressed her fingers to his temple, plunging into his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

THE FIRST THING SOPHIE NOTICED was that she didn’t have to think about manifesting a body inside of Keefe’s mind like she usually had to. Any other regular time, she’d have to focus on gathering together some mental body if she wanted to have a more physical form — but this time she hadn’t even had the chance to think. She’d just. . . _arrived._

The other odd thing about her body was that she was the same fifteen-year-old girl she was outside of Keefe’s head, but the only difference was her attire. From the nightmarish vest to the skirt, and the tiny jewelled halcyon pin over her heart, she’d recognized the Level Two uniform anywhere.

 _But why was she wearing it?_ She’d been a Level Two when she first moved to the Lost Cities, and she’d been fresh-eyed at only 12-13 years old, by that time. The last time she’d worn the uniform had been literal years ago.

The second thing she took into account was that “Keefe’s mind” was not what Keefe’s mind normally was. This wasn’t the cavern of thoughts inside his head, but rather Foxfire. Namely, a long corridor in Foxfire with a sprawled-out bench cushioned along the wall.

Sophie whirled around a couple of times in the hall, trying to catch her breath and figure out where she was in relation to the school grounds. She was probably in some Level Two hallway, given her uniform, but she still couldn’t place her finger on why she was wearing the blazing blue outfit in the first place.

 _Is this Keefe’s dream reality?_ It had to be because it wasn’t the normal landscape of his mind. And if it was, then why would Keefe or his subconscious ever pick Foxfire to be the place to eternally remain? She knew he despised that school for a multitude of reasons, from bad memories to the curriculum itself, so why would he ever choose to morph his dream world around the school?

Sophie continued to scan the hallway for anything familiar, trying to get her bearings. She had to figure out where she was and find Keefe — fast. The only issue was that she couldn’t begin to find anything familiar with the maze-like hallway, and she didn’t even know where to begin on her search for Keefe.

If she was a Level Two in this universe. . . or at least dressed like a Level Two. . . Keefe was most likely a Level Four.

Sophie searched her mind for images of the Level Four uniform, namely Keefe in it, and in an instant, her brain whizzed to the moment she’d met him. 

He was sprawled in such a relaxed and casual way, like some cunning cat, across a bench. She’d been on her way to the Healing Center after a mishap in her first alchemy session when she’d run into the charming boy, and she’d remembered some feelings inside herself that weren’t easily doused out. She’d been drawn to him, in a way, whether from his charm or from their unexplainable bond.

As Sophie spun in a slow circle to observe the space of the hallway around her, eyeing the little bench the most, it clicked.

 _This is a memory_. 

Keefe’s dream world wasn’t just random settings or scenes. It was built and based on specific memories.

But why this one? Why when they first met?

Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d been able to see him move and heard his voice fill her mind.

Keefe had been bound to a throne by an invisible force; the result of a crown made of etherine that had been placed on his head. His eyes had been hollow and scared, mixed with a dash of sorrow, but his voice had been tender and true, even as shadowflux slithered to cocoon his body.

_“I’m. . . Really glad I met you, Sophie.”_

She could still hear his exact tone ringing through her ears, still see the way his shoulders tensed. . .

Was this some side effect of those being some of his last words? Was the dream world affected by that last memory, and now he was in some endless loop of reliving the time or era they had met? And was Keefe only allowed this one memory, or could he freely hop to different settings? Did he have control over where he could shift the scene to, if that was possible? Sophie could recall Mr. Forkle mentioning something about Keefe having free will over his actions in the dream state. It surely wouldn’t be robotic conversation over and over, if that was correct.

Sophie’s mind was thrumming with so many theories and questions that it was hard to keep track of all of them as they shot like lasers through her brain.

_Sophie? Are you alright?_

Sophie jumped as Fitz’s accented voice filled her head. _Yeah, I’m okay_ , she transmitted back.

_Is Keefe there?_

Sophie’s heart wilted when she looked around the hallway one more time. _No. I think I need to go and find him. It’s really weird, though, because I swear this is a memory. I’m in a Level Two uniform at Foxfire, and I’m in the hallway that I met him in._

_You are?_

_Yeah_ , she confirmed, knotting her hands. _And I’ve never really been down this hallway, except for at that time, so if I started out here, it has to be for a reas—_

Her breath caught in her lungs.

_Sophie? You okay?_

Sophie slowly managed to nod, even though he couldn’t see it. _I. . ._

She wasn’t sure how to explain it, but she was. . . She was _little_ again. She’d been so busy spinning around in the hallway half-mindedly soaking in the details that she’d accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the glint of one of the crystal walls — and it was equal parts thrilling and ghastly.

Her height had a few noticeable inches shaved off from it. Her hair was above her shoulders, just barely skimming them. Her face was rounder. Her arms were less defined, too, missing the now-noticeable dents of muscle from training with her bodyguards. Her chest was flatter and her legs were skinnier.

 _I’m little_.

Fitz didn’t seem to know how to properly respond.

 _I mean I’m looking at myself right now and I. . . I look like I’m twelve years old again_.

Fitz seemed like he was struggling with processing that as he promised to ask Mr. Forkle about it quickly. Sophie stood in the deafening silence of the glittering hallway, uncomfortably trying to avoid eye contact with her reflection before Fitz’s accented voice strung through her brain again.

 _Mr. Forkle says it’s probably how Keefe sees you, in the dream_. _Or memory. Whatever it is_.

That would make sense. But it didn’t mean she enjoyed it.

Sophie managed to mumble out an ‘okay’ to him, even though she was definitely _not_ okay. It was making her exceedingly uncomfortable staring her twelve-year-old self in the eyes, knowing she was _really_ a fifteen-year-old girl.

A startled squeak escaped from her mouth when footsteps began to reverberate and echo down the hallway, seemingly out of nowhere. She spun to face the sound, finding no one, though the sound was increasing.

 _Is everything okay? The emotional centre of your brain is flaring with a lot of red. I can’t tell if you’re scared or angry_.

 _Just a little startled_ , Sophie admitted, amused at how her voice wobbled even though it was mental. She hadn’t been ready to hear footsteps. It was proof that this reality was up and running like clockwork, and that it was all fabricated to act like real life. There were other prodigies in this reality. There were mentors. All her friends probably existed in this, too.

Sophie meandered to the bench, plopping down and placing her head down on her lap. She took a few gentle breaths, in and out, letting her chest rise and fall against her thighs. Her eyes burned with oncoming tears.

She didn’t have time to curl up into a Sophie-ball, she knew. No matter how much she was tempted to sit and wallow in her freak fest, she needed to find Keefe and make him wake up. If Mr. Forkle was right about the time limitations, Sophie’s opportunities were quickly ticking away.

“Looks like someone discovered my favourite ditching spot.”

She tensed. The first thing she thought was, _You_.

It had been weeks since she had the joy of hearing his voice. She’d never thought to treasure such a sound, not fully grasping that there could be a time in her life when she wouldn’t be able to hear it again — and she’d never thought a time like that could come so soon.

So, hearing his voice in front of her, saying something new and spontaneous, something that wasn’t just from her memories, but rather directly from _him_. . . 

The other thing that shocked her was how he looked. 

Sophie lifted her head out of her hands, her line of sight resting on an evergreen colour. Keefe’s uniform was as casually dishevelled as she remembered, from the few undone buttons to the untucked shirt. He had his hair artfully mussed, and his startling ice-blue eyes were carefree. His shoulders had yet to hold the tension of the knowledge to come, and stiff with possibilities. And his smile was _genuine_.

Well, as genuine as it could be.

She knew now that during this time Keefe had been dealing with a lot more than he had let on, and that included dealing with his father and mother in silence. It made Sophie want to crush him with a hug and promise him he’d be fine — she’d make sure of it — and she almost _did_. But as soon as she hopped to her feet, she watched the way Keefe took a step back when they nearly knocked noses. 

Her Keefe would have joked about her longing to be close to him, but memory Keefe seemed to enjoy boundaries.

Part of her heart panged when he stepped so far away from her, hurt that he put that space between them when all she wanted to do was throw caution to the wind and wrap her arms around him. But then she caught the eyes of her (younger) reflection in the sheen of the jewelled walls and remembered that they were back in a memory. 

This Keefe knew nothing about her.

Or, just _Keefe_ she guessed. This wasn’t actually the Keefe from the past; he just had the same blissful naivete as that Keefe.

Sophie watched the blond boy’s smile fade. “Whoa, um. . . Sorry for. . . Interrupting you. I didn’t—” He paused. Slowly he lifted his hand to cover the place on his chest where his heart would be. “That’s. . . Weird.” His brows furrowed as he looked her up and down.

Sophie fidgeted with her sleeves. “What is it?”

“Your. . . Emotions are really strong,” he murmured, rubbing the spot over his heart like it was sore.

Sophie bobbed her head, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears off of her face before she crossed her arms. She fumbled for a response, reminding herself that this was the first time he was meeting her. Still, it felt weird having to ask, “You’re an Empath?” when she already knew the answer.

She swiftly followed up by clearing her throat. “And, uh, sorry about that. I guess that means you’re doing well with your ability class, though?”

There was an obnoxious lilt to her voice that made her want to roll her eyes at herself, but instead she only managed to blush. 

Keefe seemed to notice how her voice had leapt up an octave, and he could definitely feel her embarrassment from the way he fanned his hand in front of his face. His grin brightened the room. “It’s fine. It’ll definitely earn me more points with my Empathy mentor when I tell them I can feel your emotions without contact.”

Sophie’s mouth cracked into a smile. Now _that_ sounded familiar.

A pattering rush zinged through her heart at the selfless smirk he shot her. Even now when she was botching their first meeting, he was trying to make her feel better.

“This is going to be typical of you, isn’t it?”

“ _Going_ to be? We just met.” Keefe flashed that crooked, proud grin. “Making plans, are we?”

Sophie shrugged nonchalantly. “Might let you stick around. We’ll see.”

“Are you implying we’re friends?” Keefe asked, quirking an eyebrow as he gestured his finger at the two of them rapidly. “Me and the mysterious new girl? After one minute of conversation?”

Sophie had forgotten how much of a smooth-talker he was, sliding from snarky comments to blush-inducing remarks with ease. She hadn’t recognized her appreciation for his bubbling speech pattern until she’d been deprived of it.

“I have a feeling we’ll work well together,” Sophie admitted, trying not to get too choked up. “Then again, you’re the Empath — you tell me.”

Keefe’s mouth quirked up slow, like dough rising in a warm oven. He let his eyes run over her. Finally, he softly confessed, “I think I’ll have to agree with you on that, Foster.”

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath, the air clogging her lungs. Keefe’s face morphed into soft lines of confusion as a result of his own mention of her nickname. His eyebrow puckered, frowning.

He knew her name. He knew the nickname he’d given her specifically. Was he beginning to remember? 

“You know my name?” Sophie prodded hopefully, eyes lighting up.

It took him a few seconds to form a shrug, like a lagging video game. He tried to crack a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

His eyes didn’t meet the statement. The confusion lingered.

She had to be on the right track to waking him up. This was just like. . . Triggering a memory, she compared. The process would be leisurely. She just had to find the right trigger word or memory or face or action or—

“Whoa,” Keefe gasped. He followed with a slight wince as he gestured to her hand. “Don’t you think you should get that checked out? That has to hurt.”

Sophie shot her eyes down to her hand, gaping at the hideous burn mark. When had that appeared? The curious part about it was that Sophie hadn’t noticed because she couldn’t even _feel_ it.

“Um,” Sophie stumbled, staring at the blotchy red spot. She flipped her hand back and forth as if the next time she turned it over, it would disappear. “Yeah, uh, it stings a little. I messed up in alchemy. Uh. . .” She cringed, remembering how she’d ended up meeting Keefe. This was one part she wanted to redo, but she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk straying too far from the script, not knowing what might happen. So Sophie swallowed her pride, wishing she didn’t have to confess to the destruction all over again. “I spilled some acid on Lady Galvin’s cape.”

“You did _what_?” Keefe burst into laughter when she flushed. Even years later, the mention of the disaster still got under her skin. “Those capes are her pride and joy! Did she try to kill you?”

Sophie shook her head. “She sent me to go to the Healing Center while she cleans up. I got lost, though.”

Keefe perked up at her confession, back straightening and shoulders pressing out. He held out his arm, eyes glinting bright and elevated. “Lucky for you, I know these hallways like the back of my hand.”

Sophie blinked at the arm he’d popped out for her. Then her regular blush settled in to simmer on her face. She took the two steps forward to close the space between them, hooking her arm through his. “Aren’t you just charming?”

“You sound like you doubt yourself,” Keefe laughed, beginning to tug her along. “It’s a fact.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, enjoying the snickers it elicited from Keefe. She’d missed this carefree banter they used to create, and its present-day absence in and of itself made her want to clutch onto this conversation and lock it away in some secret drawer, so she could dig it out later. Replay the fluttering feelings and sappy smiles.

Keefe began chatting heartily about something and Sophie watched him from the corner of her eye, smiling. He looked like nothing in the world could shake him and it made her chest warm knowing he felt so grounded, for the time being.

The aching feeling of nostalgia burned in Sophie’s ribcage, but she kept any reaction that would give her away at bay. Sophie blinked away any oncoming tears and focused on the feel of Keefe’s arm looped through hers, leading her through the crystal hallways of Foxfire.

Distantly she found herself wishing that it could be like this again. Where the hardest part of her day was alchemy with Lady Galvin and the only thing she seemed to be struggling with was learning how to hold her concentration during a light leap.

“. . .Foster? Everything good?”

Sophie perked to life. She opened her mouth to reply when her vision started to swim. She didn’t think anything of it at first — she was used to headaches — until the scenery started to bleed together like candle wax, warping into something unrecognizable. 

Sophie screeched to halt, startled out how the world blotted away like ink, drizzling to pure black. The last thing she was aware of was Keefe saying something to her, but it was muffled and entirely unintelligible. 

Then she went limp.


	3. Chapter 3

FINGERS. SHE COULD move her fingers. That was the first part of her body that she could feel when she came to. She wiggled them, waiting for the feeling to drain to the rest of her numb body.  
  


“Careful there, Foster.” A voice teased from behind. “Can’t pass out on me, now.”  
  


Sophie blinked away the cloudiness from her eyes, grateful when the world began to shift back into focus. She couldn’t figure out why her head was splicing and shrieking. It felt like her brain was swelling so large that it began to crack her skull.  
  


Chilled wind whipping against her body made her shiver, gripping harder onto whatever was in front of her to keep her stable. Hairs tickled her cheeks as her eyes adjusted to the scene surrounding her.  
  


Sophie gasped when the blurry scene came into view. She gripped Silveny’s thick tree-trunk neck. Keefe’s arms instinctually wrapped tighter around her waist felt he felt her spike of fear. “Hey! Foster, it’s okay!”  
  


Silveny nickered at Sophie as she clamped her legs tighter against the alicorn’s body, taking a shuddering breath as she stared at the crashing waves hundreds of feet below.  
  


She was sitting on Silveny. With Keefe. And they were flying across the ocean, which meant. . . Which meant. . .  
  


This was _another_ dream scene, based on a memory. She’d failed the last one, hadn’t she? She’d failed to wake him up, so now his brain was scrambling to confuse him again, to tighten the hold he had on this reality.  
  


“Foster,” Keefe called, pulling her back. He held her against his chest. “Foster, it’s okay! Seriously, I was just joking. Are you alright? One moment you’re fine and then the next you were leaning forward, and I thought you were just acting dramatic because I was joking around with you—”  
  


He was cut off when Sophie took a deep, shuddering breath. She released an, “I’m okay,” that did not sound at _all_ okay. Her voice was thick and she choked out a tiny sob hiccup when her chest tightened.  
  


Sophie _wasn’t_ in any way ‘okay’.   
  


She was in another memory, which meant she hadn’t woken Keefe up, which meant she was one second closer to his brain shutting down, which meant she’d _never_ see him again. Sophie knew she was probably being dramatic, but she didn’t care. She didn’t know how many times his brain would allow her to mess with it.  
  


What if this second time was her last chance? It could very well be the last time she got to hear him talk to her; actually _Keefe_ himself and not just the voice she conjured in her head.  
  


And on top of that, she had woken up limp and practically dangling from an alicorn (flying over the middle of the ocean) which was _not_ a good way to come to.  
  


Sophie took another deep breath, trying to stop the tears from welling in her eyes.  
  


 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , she scolded. _You only just woke up and you’re crying! This is wasting your time. Stop crying.  
  
_

“Whoa, whoa,” Keefe replied, voice growing soft. “Foster. Hey, Sophie. It’s okay. Foster. I’m sorry.”  
  


Sophie sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s okay. I-It’s not you,” she hiccuped.  
  


But wasn’t it? Wasn’t it all because she had ached for his voice again? Longed for his presence at her side? And now he was here, holding her to him, murmuring quiet things in her ear, and she couldn’t help but become all snotty and sniffly over the delicate breeze that was his voice.  
  


The past two weeks drilled themselves behind her eyes and she couldn’t help but let her lip tremble and tears slide down her cheeks at how she’d waited, waited, _waited_ for a response. A flick of his wrist. A change in his breathing pattern. Anything to remind herself that he was alive and fighting through whatever it was that had encased him.  
  


“You’re not okay, Foster,” Keefe said gently. He left one arm wrapped around her middle as he lifted the other to rub her arm. “ _That’s_ okay.”  
  


Sophie choked out a tiny strangled whimper.  
  


“You know I meant what I said to Sandor, right?” It took Sophie a second to remember what he was referring to, but by then he’d already whispered, “I’m not going to let you get hurt. You know that.”  
  


“I know,” Sophie whined. She took a deep breath, shivering from the cold breeze that froze the tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away again. “I. . .”  
  


Keefe continued to caress her arm when she trailed off. The salty air swirling around them, wafting through Silveny’s wings bit at her exposed skin, wisping her hair around her face.  
  


After a few minutes, Keefe prodded, “You what?”  
  


What, yes. That was surely a question she had to ask herself. How did she want to end that sentence? There were so many things she wanted to say. So many options. Would it be wise to give every attempt to wake him up? Yes. But would it be selfish to also slip in a few words of her own, in case this was the last time she got to tell him everything that was on her heart?  
  


She settled with “I miss you.”  
  


She could have sworn Keefe sucked in a breath, from the way his chest caved in and left her back cold. When it returned to touching her spine and shoulder blades, it was because he released a confused but small laugh into her hair. “Miss me?”  
  


“Yes,” she confirmed. “I miss you.”  
  


She felt his jaw shut against the back of her head.   
  


The silence was deafening.   
  


Silveny released a snort, and then Keefe’s slow fingers came alive again and trailed down her arm in a soothing pattern. “I’m right here,” he reminded.  
  


Sophie didn’t know how to reply. She felt bad for confusing him. She could hear it in his voice, that he felt helpless, and didn’t quite understand what she was getting at. But she appreciated the effort.  
  


Sophie leaned back into him, closing her eyes. She mumbled, “I know,” and let the words drift between them, like a wave brushing against the shore insistently. She allowed herself to think that maybe that was how this would all work out — she had to continue to return to him, her shore, and let him guide her. Or perhaps she would guide him. She wasn’t quite sure yet.  
  


It was a weird experience because even in that fake dream state, Sophie could have sworn she could feel Keefe’s heart hammering into her shoulder blade. _Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump.  
  
_

“. . .Foster?” Keefe asked suddenly. The question was a warm puff of breath into her tendrils of hair.  
  


“Yeah, Keefe?” she replied. His hands shifted across her stomach as he situated himself behind her, fidgeting. After he repeated the shimmying movement a few more times, Silveny berated him with a series of unsatisfied snorts and haws, which had Keefe apologizing sheepishly. It brought a smile to Sophie’s lips.  
  


“I. . .”  
  


His sentence faded out. Sophie’s brow furrowed as she smeared the remainder of tears from her eyes, opening her mouth to ask him to repeat what he’d said. It had gotten lost somewhere in the whistling wind and beat of Silveny’s wings.  
  


But then she felt his hand clamp around her wrist. She gasped at the vise-like grip, tensing. “Keefe—”  
  


“I think something’s wrong.”  
  


“What?” Sophie shot out.  
  


“I think. . .” His voice faded again.   
  


When his hand slid off her wrist, she sprung to action.  
  


Sophie disregarded the wind, turning her head as best she could to look him in the eyes. She didn’t care that her hair was in her face or that the freezing wind was biting at her once-warm back. Keefe’s eyes were hazed.   
  


“Wrong? What’s wrong?” she prodded. Her heart was beating itself into her mouth, determined to drill its way out of her body.  
  


“Something doesn’t feel right.” Keefe took one hand off her middle to rub his hand over his heart. “I feel. . .” He screwed his eyes shut.  
  


“Keefe,” Sophie gasped, lunging forward to grasp his shoulders when it looked like he was swaying. She swivelled around on Silveny entirely, sending a silent apology to the alicorn as she held Keefe in her arms.  
  


“I’m tired,” he muttered.  
  


Sophie’s mind rushed back to when she had connected herself to his mind during the incident in Loamnore, promising she wouldn’t let him get lost. And how he’d begged her to let him sleep.  
  


_Tired, tired, tired.  
  
_

“Keefe,” Sophie called, arms shaking with her voice. “Keefe, are you okay?”  
  


“I’m. . .” Keefe paused, blowing out a breath. He was practically limp in her arms, so she was amazed that he could still talk to her. “I’m dizzy.”  
  


Sophie tried to think over the heavy echo of her heartbeat in her eardrums. The most probable explanation was that Keefe’s mind was figuring out she didn’t belong. She was an intruder and his subconscious was trying to distract him from her.  
  


“Okay,” Sophie replied. “Okay, uh, um. Lay here for me. Take deep breaths.”  
  


It was after Keefe reluctantly obeyed that a wild _Sophie!_ shot through her brain.  
  


 _What?_ she called out, struggling to keep her hold on Keefe. If Keefe had noticed the way she’d flinched at Fitz’s abrupt transmission, he didn’t mention it.  
  


 _Are you alright? I couldn’t talk to you for a few minutes! I wasn’t able to reach you. We were getting really worried._ Fitz was quiet for a few seconds. _Mr. Forkle wanted me to pull you out. I managed to convince him that I could get to you. And I did.  
  
_

She wanted to ask how many minutes it had been, but she stuck with a semi-frantic, _Don’t pull me out of here! Whatever you do, do_ not _take me out. I don’t care what Mr. Forkle says.  
  
_

 _But_ —  
  


 _Don’t_ , Sophie ordered. _I think he’s waking up. Or I think I’m on the right track_.  
  


She peered down at the boy in her arms. Keefe was still working on breathing in a steady pattern, head burrowed into her chest. She watched his back rise and fall with each inhale and exhale, praying that she wouldn’t have to see him take his last.  
  


Sophie knew it was risky to order Fitz not to take her out no matter what, but she needed to _try_. She needed to give it everything she had because there was no way she could afford to lose her friend.  
  


Not just because he was a living being that deserved every chance he could get. But because it was achingly clear how much she needed him in her life. The two weeks spent without him, living in constant fear that she’d never get to interact with him again. . .  
  


It had been hell.  
  


She was going to give this her whole heart.  
  


 _I need more energy_ , she admitted, the request gentle. _Please give me a boost_.  
  


 _Sophie_ . . . Fitz’s voice sounded guilty and sheepish and reluctant all in one, rolled like some emotion burrito. For some reason, it felt like she could hear him facing away from her as if his voice was projected at some far wall rather than her. _If you’re getting tired_ —  
  


 _Please, Fitz_ , Sophie begged. _I’ve only just started. I haven’t gotten any time. If I stop now, there’s no way_. . .  
  


When a tingle shot through her body, emitting from her head to her toes, she knew where the new supply had come from. She sent a meek thank you to Fitz.  
  


Keefe gulped in a huge supply of air, forcing Sophie to flick her eyes down to him. She ran a tentative hand over his back and then he was sitting back up, taking his time to make sure he didn’t pass out from his light-headedness. He blinked, flashing his eyes to the black canvas glittering with stars. Then he zoned in on her.  
  


“I’m. . . I’m really dizzy and I don’t know why.”  
  


“You can lean forward if you want to,” Sophie assured, beckoning him forward again with a wave of her hand. “You don’t have to sit upright, Keefe. I’m serious. I don’t want you falling into the ocean.”  
  


Keefe's eyes flashed up to hers. They locked. Slowly, his mouth twitched into a smile, shoulders bouncing with a few soft snickers.   
  


"Oh my gosh, don't laugh at me for _that_ ," Sophie scolded hastily, even though she was struggling to hold back her own beaming grin. "That wasn't even funny, Keefe!"  
  


"Well, I'm not _that_ dizzy! I'm not going to _fall into the ocean_ ," he shot back through a snort. Sophie rolled her eyes, but managed a few giggles at the mental image of him plummeting from their alicorn ride to the ocean below. “Are you okay?”  
  


“Yeah,” Keefe finally got out, both their laughing subsiding. His smile lingered when he collected himself. He held her eyes for longer than necessary.  
  


The eye contact made Sophie’s inside squirm, but not so much that she wanted to look away. She wasn’t even tempted in the slightest. His gaze was welcoming, his expression about the softest thing she’d seen.   
  


"Still miss me, Foster?"  
  


Sophie couldn't decide if it was meant to be teasing by the way his eyes were light and full of humor, but his voice was sweet and serious.  
  


Sophie’s lips stretched into a smile that was strained as she started bobbing her head. "I do." She held off for a few seconds before adding, "I think it's going to get better, though."  
  


Keefe's smile turned mellow and full of sympathy. Maybe it was even strained. "That's good, I guess?" he tried to offer.  
  


She ducked her chin. "I think so," she complied, trying not to let her brain grip too hard around the guitar-like strands of hope that were zinging to life in her ribcage.  
  


Keefe’s smile was everything she could ever hope for in a response. And maybe just for life in general.  
  


Keefe opened his mouth to say something, but then she winced, cutting him off before he could start. She could hear him asking her if she was alright, but she didn’t respond. Sophie was so startled by sudden nausea that burbled its way into her stomach, and before she had the time to react, she fell forward as if her head flipped a switch, turning everything dark.


	4. Chapter 4

SOPHIE WASN’T READY for her vision to come back so quickly, or for the new musty air to rush into her lungs so soon. It took her a second to realize that she was in a new scene, and another to note that she was on her knees, bent over a cardboard box. She had virtually no time to decipher where or when she was, however, because in a sudden flash, a flock of silver butterflies fluttered from the box into the open air — and her face. Sophie squealed when one got caught in her hair, batting it out before shooting to her feet.  
  


“Annnnd there’s my ever-graceful Foster!”  
  


Sophie nearly screamed when she whirled to the side, swiping hair out of her face, to find Keefe in a nearby doorway. He leaned casually against the doorframe, boots crossed, smirk shining.  
  


It almost made her forget about the butterflies dashing and flitting around her form. She held off from swatting at one when it got too close to her ear, forcing herself to take a look at her surroundings. Luckily it only took Sophie a second to identify the scene.  
  


From the piles of books and boxes to the dusty bookshelves, it was hard not to recognize Edaline’s cluttered office.  
  


Sophie shot her eyes back over to Keefe, brushing her hands down her dusty red tunic. “You scared me,” she defended, panting.  
  


“You were screaming _long_ before you knew I was here,” Keefe argued, his grin big enough to show off his perfect teeth. “So don’t even try to pull that one on me.”  
  


“There were butterflies in my face!” Sophie squabbled, gesturing wildly to the plume of butterflies circling the room. Some were swooping up to the ceiling only to come back down in some crazy missile dives. Sophie swore the things were doing it just to annoy her, even if they were just party decorations.  
  


Sophie was still busy reeling from the quick scene change that she nearly missed one key detail.  
  


They weren’t really _party_ decorations.   
  


They were for a wedding.  
  


 _Jolie’s_ wedding.  
  


Her mouth ran dry as she watched the silver things flicker in the soft, hazy light streaming in through the draped windows. These had once been set aside for Jolie’s wedding.  
  


Sophie found herself staring at the floor.  
  


“Hey,” Keefe said, and a few breaths later his toes were in front of hers, directly in her line of downward sight. She barely found the courage to look up at him. Once she did, he asked, “Why the sudden Frowny Foster face?”  
  


Sophie shrugged. “It’s a little sad, is all.” Now she felt bad for mentally cursing the butterflies only a few seconds beforehand.  
  


She looked away from Keefe, choosing instead to watch one of the butterflies do its peculiar dance in the air. It was quiet for longer than Sophie liked, then, and she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing until Keefe replied, “It is.”  
  


A simple statement. Sophie kind of wished for more than that, but what was there to say? What did she even want him to say, beyond that?  
  


Sophie didn’t know what to fill the silence with, so she was grateful when Fitz’s voice erupted inside her head. _My connection keeps getting spotty. It’s almost like you’re blocking me_ — _but I know you aren’t.  
  
_

Sophie had to swallow. _It’s that bad?  
  
_

She could envision Fitz shrugging. _That’s the odd thing. Keefe and your vitals are completely fine.  
  
_

 _Elwin’s checking_ my _vitals?_ Sophie blurted.  
  


 _Yeah_ , Fitz confirmed, and Sophie’s stomach turned sour. Sophie didn’t know why that made her squeamish. Most likely because she wasn’t even aware of her physical body. She couldn’t even feel her fingers on Keefe’s temples, now that she thought about it. . .  
  


 _Mr. Forkle’s worried you’re getting dragged under_. Fitz cleared his throat. _But besides our connection, you seem fine. And I can get in contact with you every time I send you a new boost, so_. . .  
  


Sophie waited a bit before the need to point out _, I’ve gotten really lucky_ , overwhelmed her. She had a sinking feeling that luck was going to fade fast.  
  


 _What do you mean?_ Fitz asked, sudden alarm raising in his tone. _Is Keefe. . ._ His voice cracked. _Is he breaking, or something?  
  
_

 _No!_ Sophie rushed to explain. _No, nothing like that. It’s. . . I think his brain is becoming aware of me, like Mr. Forkle said. We keep jumping around to different memories. . . And they’re all ones with me, so far.  
  
_

Sophie imagined his eyebrows furrowing as he queried, _Really?  
  
_

 _Yeah_ , Sophie replied, feeling just as uneasy about it. _I’m worried that soon it’ll switch to a memory where I wasn’t there. . . And what am I supposed to do, then? Surely it’d set off warning flags for his brain if I just showed up where I wasn’t supposed to be.  
  
_

Fitz was silent. At first, Sophie assumed he was thinking of something to say, but then she wasn’t so sure, because the silence had stretched on for so long. _Fitz?  
  
_

Seconds ticked by, and Sophie was about to turn back to Keefe when Fitz finally answered her call. _I’m here. Sorry. I was just thinking. . . Keefe is choosing those memories, you know. Whether consciously or subconsciously.  
  
_

Sophie blinked, her eyes trailing to her blond friend. Keefe seemed content with waiting for her, patiently watching the butterflies flutter about. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and Sophie couldn’t help but notice how relaxed his shoulders looked.  
  


Sophie flashed back to the conversation she’d had with Mr. Forkle. One of his points resonated in her ears.  
  


_The dreamland is specifically tailored to each individual who is stuck inside. Whether it be their view of the world, or their goals and wants, the mind makes the host cling to it for protection.  
  
_

Sophie didn’t realize she’d transmitted Mr. Forkle’s words until Fitz released an _, Exactly.  
  
_

Sophie’s eyebrows crashed together as she began shaking her head. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t a goal, and she wasn’t a want, and she certainly wasn’t his view of the world. Those were all such fundamental, important things. . . None of which she held any place in. So, why was Keefe stuck in a world that gravitated around her?  
  


Fitz didn’t appear to be reeling as much as she was, because he calmly said, _You really do seem to be the key to waking him up._ He even seemed a little. . . Sorrowful? What was it in his voice that made him sound so low and soft, like he was physically shying away from her?  
  


_Well, that would help if I knew what it meant.  
  
_

“As much as I enjoy daydreaming about weddings,” Keefe piped up, causing Sophie to flinch. He smiled, running his eyes up and down her with an arched eyebrow. “Do you care to let me in on the conversation you were having there?”  
  


“I was talking to Fitz about. . . Class with Tiergan. Sorry.” She’d barely caught her slip-up, before she’d spilled the words ‘cognate training’. At that time, her and Fitz hadn’t even had that possibility announced to them, yet, so if she had brought that up to Keefe, he would have had some _major_ questions.  
  


She cleared her throat, cutting him off when he opened his mouth to call her out for lying to him. “Care to elaborate on your daydreams?”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows launched up. Then he laughed. “Um, I think I already summed it up.”  
  


“‘Weddings’, is vague. Whose wedding?”  
  


“Why does the Mysterious Miss F want to know?” He clicked his tongue, taking a few steps forward. One tip of his boot clacked against her bare foot. “You interested in something? Hmm?”  
  


Sophie swallowed. She wanted to snap back with a quipped, “No.” Instead, “Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” flew out of her mouth.  
  


Keefe grinned. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”  
  


“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Sophie scoffed. “You’re being too vague. How am I supposed to know what you’re talking about when you say it so generally?”  
  


Keefe shrugged. “If I said it specifically, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.” He seemed to force his smirk. “And where’s the fun in that?”  
  


Sophie didn’t know why her heart skipped a beat. She took a moment to reply to his words. “So. . . You’re keeping a secret from me?” She took a step toward him. “You don’t want me to know something.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows crashed together on his forehead. “What? No. That’s not what I meant.” A muscle in his throat feathered. His eyes flickered away to focus on something across the room.  
  


His tone was cool and even, and the way he casually waved her off _would_ have been convincing if it weren’t for the valley of worry between his brows, and the tiniest movement of his Adam’s apple, that was.  
  


“No,” Sophie contended. “That _is_ what you meant.”  
  


Keefe shoved his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. You could be reading my expressions wrong, though.”  
  


“There you go being vague again,” Sophie called attention to, crossing her arms. “This has to be a pretty big secret if you’re trying so hard to protect it.”  
  


Keefe sighed, twiddling his fingers inside of his pants pockets. “Again, Foster, it’s not a secret. It’s. . . really obvious, actually.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, eyes glued to something else across the room. As if looking at anything else would make it easier.  
  


Sophie caught the annoyance dripping from his tone. Her eyebrows rose steadily on her forehead. She had no idea what he was referring to. She hadn’t known there was something apparently obvious that she was miraculously overlooking, as he seemed to think. What could it be?  
  


After Sophie dwelled on the topic for what seemed like too long, she began, “Well. . .” Her sentence didn’t get very far. She took a second to collect the right pairing of words. “If I’m not understanding or getting whatever it is based on social cues. . .”  
  


Sophie waited until Keefe met her eyes again for her to offer, “Then you should tell me.”  
  


She watched him swallow. He ended up shaking his head after a moment before shooting his gaze to the floor, watching as he scuffed the tile with the tip of his boot. “Nah,” he whispered.   
  


Sophie blinked when he shook his head again, like he was mentally scolding himself. “You _can_ tell me,” she insisted.  
  


“No, I can’t.”  
  


She pressed, “You can tell me anything.”  
  


This time Keefe didn’t look at her as he muttered, “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.” He kicked the floor again.  
  


Sophie, unsure of why he was suddenly very huffy, drew out a breath, uncrossing her arms. The intake of air didn’t cause Keefe to move his gaze somewhere else than the floor like she had been hoping, so she took the risk of striding towards him. Sophie moved slowly forward, stopping every once and awhile to let some of the butterfly decorations fly past safely. When she reached him, she sighed.  
  


“Nothing you have ever said to me is stupid, Keefe.” Sophie lifted her hand, gently touching his arm. Keefe peeked at her, and she swore she saw a sort of fondness in the look he gave. “Nothing you ever will say to me will be stupid.”  
  


Keefe stared at the fingers she had on his bicep. “You’d change your mind if you found out.”  
  


Sophie blinked at him when his eyes danced over to her. The glimmer of warmth she’d noticed seconds before remained, bright and unyielding. It was a miracle she managed to roll her shoulders coolly. “Then. . . try me,” she whispered.  
  


Keefe’s arm tensed under her hand. Keefe didn’t respond to the challenge at first. The only thing he did was break their eye contact to concentrate on a silver butterfly that had begun doing loop-de-loops.  
  


Then he stood there.   
  


Stood there.  
  


Stood there some more. Basking in the silence, eyes following the silver wisps that danced in the air. He opened his mouth a few times, making Sophie’s heart stop, but he always ended up closing it again. There was one time he looked so sure, though, so _ready_ , that Sophie made sure she was prepared to listen.  
  


Just as Keefe sucked in air to say something, Sophie’s chest clenched.   
  


Sophie gasped softly, clamping her mouth shut. She wrenched her hand away from Keefe, using it to put pressure on her chest. Keefe’s eyebrows furrowed at the way she forcefully clacked her teeth together.  
  


“Foster?” Keefe questioned, whirling to her. “Are you okay?”  
  


No, she didn’t feel okay. She couldn’t say that out loud, though. It caught in her throat, lodged under the lump that had formed. Her heart started racing to some unknown finish line.  
  


Suddenly Sophie’s face burned, her body flaring with intense heat. She felt like she was on _fire_ and every inch of her was itching to tear off as many extra layers of clothing as possible. Sophie screwed her eyes shut, grabbing onto Keefe’s bicep to steady herself.   
  


Keefe jumped to put his hands over her shoulders, preventing her from swaying. “Foster!”  
  


“It’s normal,” she choked out, coming to terms with what was beginning to occur. “It happens every time. I’m okay.”  
  


“Every time when? When is ‘every time?’”  
  


Sophie didn’t have the chance to ramble an answer. The world had already disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

HER BONES ACHED and her muscles stung. At first, she didn’t know why, given that the last two times she’d reappeared in the dream, it hadn’t hurt in any way. The fizzy feeling in her stomach was beginning to fade every time the scene shifted, so that was something positive that she clung to as she rolled her sore shoulder, pushing herself up off the hard floor.  
  


It took patience, but Sophie’s blurry vision eventually bled from fuzzy to crystal and she found herself gazing around a dim room. The only light source available to her was the moon dripping in past the curtains, seeping onto the floorboards.  
  


Sophie grasped around at the pillows and blanket covering her, shooting up off the floor. She ignored the aches in her muscles as she pressed herself against the glass of an all-too-familiar window, finally flinging it open.  
  


A cold breeze sliced through her clothes. She gaped at the tower across from her, eyes settling on a blond boy smashed up against a window that mirrored her own.  
  


 _I’m in Alluveterre,_ Sophie sent out, hoping it would reach Fitz.

This was the night she’d kept Keefe from doing anything reckless. The night she’d convinced him to settle for the time being, and allow himself to exist without feeling like he was some ticking time bomb. He was a person who needed rest. Who _deserved_ rest.

Sophie was proud for not flinching when Fitz’s voice slunk back into her mind like a fog. _You’re in Alluveterre?  
  
_

She blew out a breath, wringing her hands. _Yeah._ She paused, letting her mind make a connection. _So, you can still reach me? That’s good news, right?  
  
_

 _I’m still having some troubles,_ Fitz admitted. _I have to strain to hear you. But the fact that I can still hear you_ is _good.  
  
_

Sophie tried to cling to the positive points in his reply. It was dangerous to let the gloomy thoughts consume her while in a mind. It increased the chance of her getting drug under.  
  


 _Keefe is in the boys’ treehouse right now. I’m going to levitate over and see what I can do_ , Sophie narrated to Fitz. _He’s asleep so, I. . . I’m not sure what his mind wants me to do here.  
  
_

 _Proooobably leave him alone?_ Fitz suggested, and she could hear the smile in his voice. _Not that we’re going to do that.  
  
_

 _No_ , Sophie agreed. _We definitely aren’t_.  
  


When Fitz remained silent, Sophie took that as her green light to pull herself into the windowsill. She teetered on the wood with her bare feet, giving herself time to tower up her mental energy before catapulting herself into the crisp night air.  
  


Her levitation held strong as she floated over to the window, ducking her head to avoid banging it against the wooden frame. She lowered herself down, sucking in a sharp breath between clenched teeth when she nearly lost her balance. The last thing she wanted to do was topple over onto Keefe.  
  


Sophie maneuvered over Keefe’s form, pleading with her own limbs to be graceful for once. When she had successfully avoided him, bare feet plopping onto the cold floor, she turned around to observe him.  
  


If the combination of his snoring and closed eyes hadn’t given him away, his bed-head would have: He was sound asleep. Most likely dreaming, too, by the way his leg was twitching.  
  


And if he was asleep. . . That surely confirmed that he was choosing to be stuck in specific memories that included her.  
  


A stone rolled into the pit of Sophie’s stomach.  
  


So. . . _why, then?  
  
_

Fitz’s words sprung to the front of her mind.  
  


_You really do seem to be the key to waking him up.  
  
_

If that was true, in any way. . . She needed to look into it further. She needed to find whatever it was, whatever piece of her that he wanted, that would wake him.  
  


Sophie knew it was a risk, but she wanted him to switch to another memory.   
  


Which would require waking him up from his current slumber.  
  


She turned to prepare to swallow her doubts and tap the boy on the shoulder when a tall stack of papers in her peripheral vision caught her eye. Sophie’s eyebrows hiked up on her forehead in curiosity as she stared at it, squinting in the dark. She peeked over at Keefe once before deciding she could afford a small distraction, as long as she made it quick.  
  


She ambled over to the desk the notes were placed upon and bent to pick one up. Sophie tried to muffle the rustling noise as best as she could, flipping one over to read the ink swiped on it.  
  


_First day of Foxfire -- where was she?  
  
_

Sophie stopped breathing. She flipped the note over multiple times, until there was no way she could deny what they were.   
  


These were the letters she’d taken off of the wall of his treehouse — all of the memories Keefe had managed to recall about his mom, written out.  
  


She looked back at the stack, plucking a few more notes off the pile. Sophie shrunk when they made a noise, but read them nonetheless.  
  


_Level Four midterm gift -- reason?  
  
_

_Door on level thirty-three -- where does it go?  
  
_

_Dad’s missing blue pathfinder -- was it her? Where did she go?  
  
_

_Was she one of Sophie and Dex’s kidnappers? Did she hurt them?  
  
_

Sophie felt the need to pause at that one, lump forming in her throat. She touched the handwriting, seeing how shaky the letters were. They weren’t pristine like she’d seen his usual handwriting be. It was messy, like his hands had been fumbling when he’d scrawled it down.  
  


He cared for her, that showed. Even though, during that time, Keefe had just found out about his mother’s professed death, he’d taken the time to worry about _her_ — Sophie Foster. In some small way, at the minimum, he’d been physically upset at the thought of her being hurt, so he hadn’t been able to write neatly. That much was clear.  
  


She forced herself to move on to new letters.  
  


_What is she “preparing” me for?  
  
_

_Did she ever love me?  
  
_

_Who am I?  
  
_

Sophie bit her tongue so hard that she expected to be met with the familiar iron taste of blood. Even then, months before his legacy had even been a whisper of rumor, he had been forced to carry the burden of uncertainty. Uncertainty of himself. His worth. His future.  
  


She knew exactly what that was like. She didn’t need to be the Empath to know that everything felt rocky, from mild decisions to the most pivotal conversations. It made her feel like she had to overanalyze every area of her life to ensure she wouldn’t cost herself — or her friends — any mistakes.  
  


She was sure that was what he had felt like: Petrified over every mistake, whether from the present or the past.  
  


Sophie repressed a dismal sigh as she returned to the stack of papers. Her burning eyes lost their glassy effect quickly, and she wiped away the lingering blurry tears with the back of her hand to see the writing clearer.  
  


_Why did she make them test me twice to see if I’d manifest as a Conjurer?  
  
_

Sophie forced her hands not to crumple the note. They were shaking too hard, though, and there were a few creases that could not be avoided.  
  


This was exactly why Keefe’s mother had risked her son’s life. For some mysterious ability that was supposedly the catalyst of his legacy, and the key that would pave the way for the Neverseen to control the Lost Cities.  
  


What did a Conjurer have to do with their plan, then? If that was the ability that Gisela was trying to get Keefe to manifest, what significance did it have? There were plenty of Conjurers elsewhere that they could recruit, surely. Hell, her _Mom_ was a Conjurer. Jolie had been a Conjurer, too.  
  


Sophie froze.  
  


 _Jolie_ had been a Conjurer. And the Neverseen had tried to recruit her. . .  
  


She shook her head vigorously. _No, no._ She didn’t have the time to go down that rabbit hole. Sophie wasn’t even sure if that was the ability that Keefe was going to develop, so she didn’t need to waste time theorizing over that.  
  


Sophie furiously wiped the tears from her eyes before setting the note aside. She buried her face in her hands and sucked in a handful of deep breaths. When she had calmed, for the most part, she took another shaky breath to steady her remaining nerves and calm the beckoning tears.  
  


She had to focus. Dwelling on what was done was not going to wake Keefe up.  
  


Sophie turned away from the stack of notes, training her eyes ahead at her sleeping friend. Keefe was still huddled against the window, snoring peacefully. She forced herself to take a step forward, padding closer and closer until moonlight hit her body, soaking her in the milky colour. When she reached Keefe, she slowly extended her arm, placing a timid hand on his back.  
  


Sophie gave herself to the count of ten before she whispered, “Keefe?” He didn’t react when she first said his name, but after a few more gentle calls, he stirred.  
  


Sophie couldn’t help her smile when he turned to her, peeking with drowsy eyes. “Foster?” he croaked, his languid voice still dripping with lethargy.  
  


“Hi,” she greeted, verifying that it was really her. She rubbed his shoulder, clearing her throat. Sophie retracted her hand when he sat up, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”  
  


“What are you. . . What are you doing over here?” He looked her up and down when he’d taken his fists away from his eyes, doing a double-take of sorts before peering back to the girl’s treehouse as if to make sure he was seeing things correctly.  
  


“It’s not a dream,” Sophie promised, knowing what he was thinking. She instantly regretted the choice of words. “Well, um, kind of. . . Not really.”  
  


Keefe cocked his head at her. “ ‘Kind of’?”  
  


“Um,” Sophie mumbled. She shook her head. It wouldn’t be as simple as she was thinking. There was no possible way she’d wake him up by telling him it was all fake. There was a key she had to find. “Never mind. We’re getting sidetracked.”  
  


Sophie made him get out of his makeshift bed against the window, which involved a lot of whining about how cold it was and how he could converse with her just fine from under the covers. When he had finally quieted down, Sophie straightened her posture. She squared her shoulders.  
  


This was going to be a grueling and beyond perplexing puzzle of a conversation. Sophie didn’t have a plan set in mind when she flung herself knee-deep into the discussion.  
  


Sophie cleared her throat. “Okay. I got you up because I wanted to talk to you about. . . Something. I want to ask you a question.”  
  


Keefe watched her.   
  


“Do you. . .” Sophie tapered off quickly. This was going to sound weird. “Do you, like. . . Think. . . Something of me?”  
  


Keefe seemed to do a sort of double-take on Sophie, flicking his eyes up and down her. When he knew she was being serious, he pointed out, “That’s. . . A vague question. I don’t know what you want me to say. Could you be more specific?”  
  


Sophie mentally cringed. Outwardly, she blushed at the look of confusion slipping over Keefe’s face. She watched the curve of his brow, deciding that would keep her calmer than looking directly into his eyes, as she tried again. “Well. . . What do you think of. . . When you think of me?”  
  


Keefe tilted his head. “What do I think of when I think of you?”  
  


That time, Sophie visibly grimaced. She wrung her hands tightly, trying to formulate the question better. If it failed again, she was going to give up. Sophie swore her cheeks were neon when she implored, “I mean. . . What’s special about. . . You and me?”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows furrowed as he asked another, “What?”  
  


“I. . .” Sophie exhaled slowly, burying her face in her hands in frustration. “I don’t know how to word it, I just. . . I need to know how to. . .”  
  


“How to what?”   
  


Sophie needed to know a lot of things. She needed to know why he hadn’t listened when she’d begged him to stay away from Loamnore, or why he chose for his dreamland to concentrate on her. She needed to know what secret he was evidently keeping from her, she needed to know why he was afraid the secret would change things. She needed to know what she could do to make him listen to her when she gave him advice to keep him safe.   
  


She needed to know how to wake him up.  
  


The only issue was that she had no clue how to even come about that. It was impossible for her to ask for guidance, too, because Keefe was equally as in-the-dark as she was, if not more.  
  


Sophie didn’t notice that she was crying until she felt a tear slide over her jawline and down her neck, making the slick descent to her collarbone. Keefe didn’t see it immediately either, so Sophie swiped at the salty trails quickly before Keefe saw their glittering tracks in the moonlight.  
  


However, the motion had the opposite effect of what she wanted, bringing more attention to her face.  
  


When he noticed, Keefe’s expression melted into something indecipherable-but-soft in less than a second. It was like he’d flipped a switch, taking all focus off of his own worries and gluing his attention to her.   
  


Keefe moved forward. It was only a couple steps at first and he held out his hands like he was going to comfort her.  
  


“Hey, Foster. Don’t cry. Foster.” Keefe sounded alarmed as Sophie tried to slip around him and escape out the window.  
  


He blocked her path swiftly, eyebrows crushing together. “What’s going on?”  
  


“Nothing,” Sophie snapped. Sophie hadn’t intended for it to be barked at him in such a rigid tone, but once it had flown out, it was too late to change it. Sophie tried to maneuver around him again, but he blocked her path for the second time with ease.  
  


“Stop. What’s happening? Tell me what’s going on.” He paused for a beat of silence before adding, “Please.”  
  


Sophie shook her head violently with conviction. “Just. . . go back to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you up.” She cursed her voice for sounding so garbled. Sophie didn’t want to cry in front of Keefe _again_. It felt like that was all she had been doing for the past few weeks.  
  


Cry. Convince herself she was okay. Repeat.  
  


Keefe wasn’t having it. His face shone with determination as he concluded, “There’s no way I’m going to be able to get any sleep _now_.”  
  


 _You’d be surprised how long you can sleep for_.  
  


Sophie crossed her arms, batting her eyes away from him. She aimed her narrowed line of sight at the stack of notes through blurry eyes, hoping, _wishing_ that his brain would change the scene again. Sophie just wanted to move forward and get it over with. She wanted this to be _over_.  
  


Keefe had padded over to her when she’d been avoiding eye contact, and though she was aware of how close he was, she refused to give him the satisfaction of flicking her gaze to study him. She didn’t want comfort. Not now. Not from Keefe.  
  


At least, that’s what Sophie told herself.  
  


Sophie released a shuddering breath, which caused a few tears to break free. They rolled down her face, clinging to her the most annoying places that made her want to claw at her face. They clung to her jawline, or slid over her lips, or brushed the edges of her nose. Sophie furiously wiped them away when they began tickling her skin.  
  


Something holding her chin made her heart skip a beat. Sophie’s face turned back to Keefe, only half against her will. He’d put two fingers around her chin to make her look at him.  
  


Sophie could only blink. A couple extra hot tears pooled out of her eyes and trailed their way down her skin when she caught sight of Keefe’s worry-filled gaze.  
  


God, she was really screwing this up. _He_ was the one _she_ was trying to save and yet Keefe seemed to be saving Sophie more than anything.  
  


“Keefe. . .” Sophie rasped. “I’m sorry.”  
  


“You don’t have to be _sorry_ , Foster. You don’t always have to be the saviour.” Keefe said it like he knew what she was thinking. He maintained eye contact, refusing to let Sophie break away from him until she had nodded.  
  


He smiled. “Besides, it gave me a bit to think of an answer.”  
  


Sophie’s heart pounded in her chest. And it only got louder when he affirmed, “What’s special about you and I is that no matter the amount of shit we go through, we’ve managed to stick together. Pretty amazing, right?”   
  


Sophie tried to open her mouth to tell him something, only to get cut off by a hiccup. She settled for a meek nod, even though the gesture barely touched close to what she was feeling when he said that.  
  


Keefe didn’t stop, though. He kept going.   
  


“What’s special about you and I is that we know each other so well. We can read each other’s minds without telepathy, Foster. You just know me that well. Hell, we finish each other’s sentences half the time. Isn't that crazy? Kinda makes us look stupid.” Keefe laughed softly, and only then did Sophie notice how his eyes looked misty. The sight made her sniffle.  
  


“What’s special about you and I is how we were brought together at the perfect time. The _exact_ right time, Foster. You don’t think that’s insane, how if you had come to us any later, we might not have met? My mom might have already taken me along with her, somewhere. I could have been with the Neverseen.”   
  


His finger slipped off her chin, lacing their hands together. “What’s special about you and I is that we balance each other out. We understand what each of us is going through in ways the others don’t always know. What’s special about you and I is that we’re each other’s confidantes. We know things about each other that nobody else knows.”  
  


Keefe pointed over to his stack of notes, proving his words. Then he returned back to her.  
  


“What’s special about you and I is our connection. Our _bond_. This is something that never happens in a million years.” He squeezed her hands tight before lifting them up slightly, displaying their intertwined hands for her to observe. “I can feel your emotions without contact, Foster. That’s literally _insane_. That’s not a coincidence. That’s. . . That’s _us_.”  
  


Sophie shivered, holding back a whimper. _It’s us,_ her mind parroted. _It’s us, it’s us, it’s us.  
  
_

“You know what else?”  
  


Sophie shook her head, more tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “No, what?”  
  


Keefe’s expression was tender as he released her hands. Disappointment flooded Sophie briefly, but then he placed his hands on her biceps, rubbing circles with his thumbs as he stared directly into her brown eyes.   
  


Sophie had never experienced that soul-window thing people had described, where they said they felt like another person could see into them by the way they locked gazes. Now Sophie knew what they were talking about. It was insane, how she felt like there were no boundaries barricading them. There were no more walls.  
  


Keefe’s circles on her arms were caring and sensitive as he, without warning, said, “You’re my happy place.”  
  


Sophie’s heart turned to double time. _What?  
  
_

“You’re one of my best happy places,” Keefe revealed. “Remember what we talked about? On that river boat with Lady Cadence? I was getting sick and you told me to go to my happy place.” He held her shoulders tighter. “ _You_ are one of my happy places, Foster.”  
  


Sophie’s lip trembled, letting a bubbled sob escape. The last thing she wanted to do was dissolve into a pile of tears and snot in front of Keefe, but from the way he was talking to her so open and raw, he was making it pretty damn hard.  
  


Keefe murmured something encouraging to her as he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He smiled sympathetically. “Would I be pushing boundaries if I asked to hug you?”  
  


“ _No_ ,” Sophie assured, stepping forward into his embrace without a sliver of hesitation. Sophie latched her arms around his torso as tight as she could, melting into the arms he splayed over her back.  
  


Sophie decided after a few seconds that she could stay content like that for a long time. If only she could find the time to sit with him, waste away a day or night. Sophie knew she wouldn’t mind it at all. She could get lost in the safety and warmth the experience provided. She’d succumb to that touch any day if she was given the chance.  
  


“Also, as a disclaimer, I’m _super_ tired so you can’t hold any stuttering or weird faces I made against me. That’d be downright rude.”  
  


Sophie erupted with bubbled-up laughter, which sounded more like choking because of how she was crying through it. Keefe broke into gentle laughter alongside her, stroking a hand down her back.  
  


Sophie finished laughing gradually and her brain began relapsing the moment. Namely his words. His joke ran through her brain over and over like a trickling stream. That’s when it hit her, like an unwanted, sharp flick to the nose.  
  


Sophie had nearly missed that he’d mentioned the cursed boat ride with Lady Cadence.   
  


“Wait,” she hiccupped, smearing away the tears spilling down her cheeks. “You. . .” She sucked in a shaky breath. Sophie pulled back in his arms so that she could see his face. “You remember that? The boat?”  
  


In this timeline, Keefe had yet to experience that with her. That boat ride had come long after his time with the Neverseen, and where she was in the past right now, they weren’t even to the point of his betrayal.   
  


Which meant she’d somehow unlocked _something_. All she had to do was figure out what the key was, and how she could replicate it.  
  


Sophie was one step closer.  
  


Her heart spurred with hope, tears beginning to dry. She wiped away the last of them.  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows furrowed together. His eyes seemed distant as he stared in a trance-like state over her shoulder, not looking at anything specific. “That doesn’t. . . make sense.”  
  


“No, it doesn’t,” Sophie agreed. Keefe’s hands retreated from the shoulder blades to regain their place on her biceps, but his grip leisurely loosened further, inch by inch, second by second. His hands were slowly slipping down, down, until his hold had gripped around her elbows.  
  


“I don’t understand,” he whispered. His face looked haunted as his eyes glued themselves to the floorboards. Sophie watched creases form on his face.  
  


“You’re not meant to understand it,” Sophie rushed to explain, “because it’s not supposed to make sense. It’s messed up, Keefe — that’s exactly it. What you’re feeling is wrong, and you’re correct because it _is_ truly wrong.”  
  


 _Think about it_ , her mind pled. _Think about it. Please let him think about it_.  
  


Sophie knew she could not outright say it to him. It was too much of a risk. If the part of his brain that was on lockdown detected it before Keefe himself did, she would be kicked out. Then there would be no chance of getting Keefe back and all her efforts would be for nothing.  
  


“I don’t know what you’re telling me, Foster.”  
  


“I can’t help you anymore than that, I’m sorry, just. . .” Sophie squeezed her eyes shut when her intestines squirmed. She was punched in the gut with a wave of nausea. Sophie groaned, instantly knowing what was coming. Her brain connected the dots, aware that her blurring vision, oncoming headache, and twisting stomach meant she was about to pass out again. Which would transport her to another scenario.  
  


Something shifted into place inside Sophie’s chest when she heard Keefe calling for her, asking her if everything was alright.   
  


Sophie took a deep breath. For once, she didn’t fight it.   
  


Sophie closed her eyes.  
  


She repressed the ugly anxiety that was telling her she should fight to stay awake, that she should try to stand her ground. She forced down the worry nagging at her, warning her that she was going to lose a valuable moment if she let it slip away. She ignored the feeling that this was an opportunity she was giving away willingly.  
  


And she waded into the black waters, letting her consciousness drift off.


	6. Chapter 6

THE AWAKENING reminded Sophie of floating. The only difference between that of a body of water and her current predicament was that her surroundings were pitch black as if she were drifting through the void.  
  


Sophie couldn’t decipher whether or not her eyes were open, it was so dark. Everything inside her felt warm and droopy, blood pumping slow and slothful like caramel.  
  


This was most likely what those sensory deprivation tanks that humans had felt like. She was entirely alone, isolated from the world and any distraction. Her brain itself felt sluggish, to the point where her thoughts formed slower than crystallizing honey. Sophie’s labored breathing danced on the waves in a melody only they knew.   
  


It was serene and tranquil, but also. . . Petrifying. The darkness swallowed her body, her mind, her world. It squeezed her heart, stole her breath and. . . In the shadows stirred an all-too familiar monster.  
  


 _No_.  
  


She had to deny it. It wasn’t there. She’d beaten her echoes, just like Fitz. Flori had made sure of it. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.  
  


But. . . Fitz _wasn’t_ better. If anything, the accident had affected him harder than it had Sophie. The shadows changed his heart, stranding him away from the want to progress and flourish. Away from the want to change his negative behaviour and better himself. Away from the light.  
  


The darkness was not gone. It had taken Fitz. It had stolen Keefe. It would take her, too.  
  


It was only the beginning.  
  


The shadows slithered around the cavern of her mind, seeping into her thought canals like poison. It bled like ink into pieces of her consciousness, destroying every inch that was _Sophie_ . Every inch of herself, her own being and soul — _gone_ . Destroyed. Burned out of existence, reduced to ashes that were left to the wind.  
  


A light flickered to life. At first Sophie shied away, but then she noticed the warmth it emitted. How it softly called to her with some tantalizing harmony, whispering sweet nonsense meant to soothe. This wasn’t a fire meant to destroy; this was a fire meant to meld. To cradle life.  
  


To create.  
  


In an instant, the light shifted to surround her. Sophie snapped back into her body, becoming aware of her twitching eyelids and lashes that brushed her cheeks, down to the pulsing feel of the adrenaline rushing through her veins.   
  


A familiar voice called, “Foster, please talk to me.”  
  


Sophie gasped, eyes flying open. Keefe, who stood in front of her, was startled by the abrupt reaction. Sophie ignored his concerned questions, though. She became too busy focusing on the fact that the switch had been. . . so effortless. It had been horrifying and frightening for a few painful seconds, but she was lasering in on the plus-side: her body wasn’t screaming at her and her echo had faded.  
  


It was nothing more than a nightmare. Of sorts.  
  


There was no painful throbbing in her head and her eyes didn’t feel like they wanted to pulse out of their sockets, which was phenomenal, in her opinion. Was that all she had to do, to make the transitions painless? Did she have to willingly surrender herself to the flow of the memories?  
  


Sophie grasped at her neck, roaming until she felt her heartbeat thumping, thrumming through the muscles in her throat. The breath she’d been holding escaped. Her echo had stirred, yes, but it was calm again.  
  


She was okay. She was more than okay, actually.  
  


Sophie was safe.  
  


 _Wow_.  
  


“You. . . alright?” Keefe asked slowly, eyes trailing up and down her form.  
  


Sophie nodded, finally taking note that he was standing in front of her. She began to soak in the details of the area she’d woken up in. She froze when she linked the scenery to a memory.  
  


From Keefe’s Neverseen cloak to the glass walls, it was undeniable where she had wound up in Keefe’s walk down memory lane.   
  


Keefe’s perception of Magnate Leto’s old office was sharper than what Sophie’s memory had retained. Hard, jagged lines lined the walls and furniture, casting dark shadows on the confining space. The entire place made Sophie feel unnerved and gloomy, like she was viewing one of Keefe’s upsetting memories.   
  


The one thing Sophie couldn’t figure out was _why_ he viewed it as a bad memory. It wasn’t _pleasant_ , Sophie had to admit, but it also didn’t deserve to be placed among the ones with his father and mother, surely?  
  


“I thought you were ignoring me,” Keefe piped up, chuckling nervously. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, but it brushed over his hood. Sophie stared as he flipped it down to allow him access to muss his hair.  
  


The sour feeling churning Sophie’s intestines like soup made her reconsider her earlier thought. Perhaps it _was_ as glum a memory as Keefe had labeled it. She’d been _fuming_ at Keefe for everything he’d put her through — and even if she hadn’t made that vocally clear, he could _feel_ her rage.  
  


She blew out a slow breath. “. . .Could you blame me?”  
  


Keefe’s eyes flicked to her, then down to the patch on his cloak. “No,” he muttered guiltily. He shoved his hands in his pocket. “I mean. . .” Keefe stopped himself. He averted his gaze, making it impossible for Sophie to regain eye contact.  
  


Sophie curved an elegant eyebrow upwards. “. . .What is it?” Sophie prodded.  
  


Keefe looked like he was kicking himself for letting it slip. He hesitated heavily, but after a long sigh, he begrudgingly responded, “I mean, I just thought after. . .” Keefe cursed under his breath, tearing a hand through his hair. It was apparent that he believed she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I thought that after everything we’ve gone through together. . . You wouldn’t, I don’t know, take it the way that you’re taking it?” He visibly winced.  
  


There was something to his voice that made Sophie crinkle her nose.  
  


Sophie wanted to laugh at the audacity it must have taken for Keefe to say that. What was he trying to accomplish? Did he want to guilt-trip her for being angry at him for once? No, not even angry. Irritated perhaps, but she wasn’t blowing up at him.  
  


“You mimicked _my voice_ , Keefe. You _stole_ Kenric’s cache. You _ran off to the enemy_ . What was. . . What _am_ I supposed to think?”  
  


Keefe frowned, looking more than hurt. “Yeah, I just. I don’t know? I hope you’d remember how long I’ve been on your side for. I think I’d like it if you remembered that I don’t want to hurt you, Foster.”

“Well, you did.”  
  


Keefe’s teeth clacked together as his jaw clamped shut.

  
Sophie hadn’t meant to snap so bitterly at him, but before she’d had time to think about what she wanted to say, it had flown out.  
  


 _This is not helping him wake up_.  
  


Sophie exhaled long and slow, closing her eyes. She hated it, but for some reason, all that old pent-up anger from his time with the Neverseen was bubbling back up inside her like a cauldron. She hated her body for making those feelings resurface, given how much stress Keefe currently had to withstand, but Sophie couldn’t flip it off like a light switch like she wanted. If she let it sit and brew in her stomach, this was going to weigh her down.   
  


And the last thing she wanted to do was screw up at this job.  
  


Sophie massaged her temples. Her voice was soft and calm as she said, “I was angry at you, Keefe. I was. . . _really_ angry that you left like that. But more than that I was sad. _Horribly_ sad and disappointed. Maybe even a little scared.” Keefe caught her eyes when she pleaded, “You can’t break our trust like that.”  
  


Sophie could imagine the way Keefe’s stomach soured. “I never wanted this to become a reason for us to fight.” Keefe shook his head, mentally berating himself. “I. . . I wanted to help and this was how I best saw—”  
  


“Yes, how _you_ best saw fit,” Sophie interrupted. “We’re a team, Keefe. We can’t work together on solutions unless you come to me and confide in me. Trust goes both ways. So I think it’s about time you learn to trust me.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes trailed to her. “Does that mean. . . _you_ trust me?”  
  


Sophie didn’t know how to give him a definite answer for that. She’d backed herself into a corner with her own argument. She gave a vague, “I’m. . . working on it,” hoping he wouldn’t call her out on it. She crossed her arms loosely. “It’s not like this helped.”  
  


It’s not like any of what had happened between them had helped. Time and time again, Keefe found ways to deliberately disobey whatever it was that she asked — _begged_ — of him.   
  


Keefe nodded dejectedly. “I know.” Keefe’s arms extended like he was going to hold her hands, but he stopped halfway through the motion. He flashed his eyes up to watch her face, checking for some sign that he hadn’t really screwed them over permanently.   
  


Sophie’s eyes lasered to his feet when he stuck one boot out, taking a step forward. Her gaze flicked up this face, remaining there when he took the rest of the steps required so that he was directly in front of her. She remembered how he’d done this last time. Gotten so close that she could feel his breathing on her cheeks, see the darker ring of blue around his pupil that made his eyes look crystalline.  
  


Oddly enough, she hadn’t minded it last time — even though it’d felt a little strange and even made her chest ache — and she didn’t blink twice at it, now. It felt natural to have him that close, like they were destined to be bound by some invisible force.  
  


Keefe must have sensed her peace, feeling it was okay to reach up and tug on one of her stray strands of hair that was brushing her face. Keefe’s smile dripped with his regret, making Sophie’s stomach coil up like a snake.  
  


After Sophie bit her lower lip, Keefe’s smile dissolved. It was a slow and sweet vanishing, like dispersing paints into a jar of water. Something honest remained, though, clinging to his expression.  
  


“I’m going to get you to trust me, alright? I won’t break it again. I’ll work for it.” Keefe waited until Sophie met his eyes to reach up and brush an eyelash off her cheek. His face said, _I’m doing this for you_.   
  


Sophie still didn’t know if that was wholly true, but. . . She knew a part of the puzzle that was his heart had shifted into the correct slot. Keefe _had_ been trying partially for her, even if the lines between friend and enemy had blurred.  
  


“I’m going to try to get information, Foster. This could help the Black Swan get ahead of them. This could help _us_ get ahead of them.”  
  


 _Us. Us. Us_.  
  


“I’m doing this for us. For all of us. Dex, Biana, Fitz, Tam, Linh, Marella. _You_ .”  
  


Sophie glanced away. “You were an asshole.”  
  


“I know.” A muscle feathered in Keefe’s throat. “I’m _sorry_ , Foster. I’m sorry.”  
  


Sophie had heard those words a lot within the last few weeks. So many, ‘I’m sorry’s, so many ‘I’ll try better’s. So many lost causes and shattered promises that made her heart throb if she dared to replay them. She didn’t want another tally to add to her ever-growing list of disappointments. She wanted to believe that Keefe was going to change, but what happened if that trust was broken again? Sophie couldn’t handle many more times of going around the whirlpool with him. With him, with Fitz, with whoever it may be.  
  


Sophie couldn’t read Keefe’s expression as she sighed. “I won’t tell you it’s fine. It _wasn’t_ fine. But. . . Thank you,” Sophie mumbled. “For apologizing.”  
  


Keefe nodded, smiling somewhat sadly. Sophie’s eyes caught sight of his mouth.   
  


Such a damning smile he possessed. It was unfair how nice-looking it was, balanced and pretty as a picture. She’d always known of the beguiling grin he had, but she’d only ever thought about it when he flashed it her way. Now she was studying the lines of his smile, the contours of his chin, the angles of his cheekbones, the form of his eyes all like he was some renaissance painting.  
  


Which he almost was, if Sophie wasn’t lying.  
  


Sophie made the excuse that it was alright because they were so close and — Keefe seemed to be doing the same.   
  


A little glimmer of surprise sparked in Sophie’s back when she caught that his eyes were somewhere on the hair tangled around her face. They glided over to her collarbone, drifting up her neck to her mouth, settling there for a few seconds before he recognized Sophie had caught on to him.  
  


It felt right, in her mind, to imagine her being fully pressed against him. To close the gap that separated them and allow their mouths to sew together like string going effortlessly through the eye of a needle. They were already so close that it wouldn’t require much movement and—  
  


 _Wait_.  
  


Within a millisecond Sophie recognized what she thought and shoved the image out of her head. Her stomach brewed with sloshy shame. Sophie shivered as the embarrassment coursed through her body, making her cheeks burn.  
  


Fuck, _why_ had she thought of that? Why would she _ever_ think of that? Especially at such an inappropriate time like _this_. What even was that? _Why was she thinking that_? She’d never imagined. . . _anything_ like that before, so it made no sense why it would pop into her head without warning.   
  


Or why it didn’t totally repulse her. . .  
  


It was nerves. It was her body trying to cope with everything that was happening, so it had tugged onto an image of comfort, surely. That was all there was to it.  
  


Yet, that excuse unleashed another question: why was _that_ an image of comfort she’d decided to subconsciously create and cling to?  
  


 _Oh no_.  
  


“. . .Foster?”  
  


Sophie jolted out of her thoughts, sucking in air between her teeth at how _close_ Keefe was. That, paired with the hooded look of concern he was flashing at her did _not_ aid her on the quest to pacify her raging heartbeat. “Sorry, I’m thinking,” she blurted.  
  


Before Sophie had the time to react, Keefe had his hand around her wrist. She held her breath, knowing that was it — all he needed was the briefest contact and he had a full reading laid out for him on a silver platter.   
  


Why was she being so jittery? Keefe didn’t know what was on her mind. He could guess, but even if he did, it was her word against his.  
  


Sophie didn’t get why it felt like such a crime for thinking that, either. It was a slip-up. Nothing more.  
  


After a lifetime of waiting, all he reported was, “You’re anxious.” Keefe held her eyes. He let go of her wrist and asked, “Are you scared of me?”  
  


Sophie’s eyes popped open, not expecting him to jump to that conclusion. “No. No, that’s not what it is. I’m. . . I’m scared _for_ you, but I'm not scared _of_ you.”  
  


Keefe exhaled, obviously relieved. He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Okay.” It was clear that he could feel her own belief in what she’d said, so he knew she wasn’t lying.  
  


Neither of them knew what to say after that. The seconds ticked by on the clock, turning to minutes. Keefe nor Sophie tried to make an attempt at conversation. To be fair, Sophie was lost in a sea of thoughts.  
  


Why had she been thinking of. . .?  
  


This was Keefe. Keefe had been her friend since. . . Forever. Literally forever. From the moment she’d met him, she’d had no doubt in her mind that their relationship was platonic, hell, maybe even _familial_ , and nothing else.  
  


But you didn’t kiss friends like that. You didn’t kiss family like that.  
  


Why, oh _why,_ had she been thinking that?  
  


Sophie glanced at Keefe. He looked lost in his own head, staring out of the glass pyramid at the expansions of purple grass. Sophie could have sworn he was in a trance, from the way his eyes never wavered; the only thing giving him away was the anxious tap of his foot.  
  


 _Tap. Tap. Tap_.  
  


The tip of his boot clacked on the floor for another minute in perfect rhythm before he broke the pattern. The silence caused Sophie to snap out of her thoughts and look at him.  
  


Keefe knew he had her attention. “You’re going to hate me,” he mumbled.  
  


 _Tap. Tap. Tap_.  
  


Sophie’s immediate reaction was to roll her eyes. She let out a scoff-laugh. “Honestly, you don’t learn, Keefe. I’m _never_ going to hate you.”  
  


His boot froze. Keefe nervously glanced at her. She took the opportunity to continue, “I will never be able to _fathom_ how you can imagine that I’d _hate_ you. I can get frustrated with you and I can take breaks with you, but I will never be able to _hate_ you. Not a single bone in my body will ever get close to a feeling like that when you’re involved, okay? I. . . I _love_ you. You’re my _family_ .”  
  


It looked like Keefe bit the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling, from the way it sunk to his teeth in just the slightest. Sophie could have sworn his eyes were glassy. His voice was strangely unbroken as he whispered, “And I left you.”  
  


Sophie croaked, “You did, yeah,” letting her shoulders rise in a shrug. She sighed when Keefe shied away from her. “It. . . It wasn’t okay, the way you handled it. Some of the things you’ve done. . . They weren’t alright,” Sophie admitted. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t making the effort to change for the better, though. That doesn’t mean you haven’t or aren’t working to make up for the past.”  
  


“Are you giving me a pep talk after we just spent five minutes yelling at each other?”  
  


Sophie grimaced. She wouldn’t categorize the quarrel as yelling at one another, but she had to agree that it wasn’t a pleasant disagreement. And then, of course, she’d thought about. . .  
  


No. Nope.  
  


“I had to make you see the bad before you see the good. And you _are_ good. You’re a _good person_ , Keefe. You can be dumb and impulsive and cocky and stubborn and immature and careless—”  
  


“How long is this list going to go?” His smile was tainted with a light wince. Keefe’s eyes managed to glimmer with a sense of mischief, all while he looked like he was physically biting down on his tongue.  
  


Sophie sighed heavily, shaking her head. “ _But_ ,” she resumed, “you’re a good person, even with all that going on in there.” Sophie reached forward and set her hand over his heart. She didn’t know when they’d gotten that close again, where she could reach him with ease. She also was surprised her hand didn’t shake.  
  


Sophie’s voice dropped as she murmured, “I love you, Keefe, okay? And I’m never going to hate you.”  
  


Keefe didn’t say it back to her, but he dipped his chin, smile never fading from his face. He looked happy, she couldn’t deny it, but she could still see the water in his eyes.   
  


Sophie wasn’t sure why it disappointed her that Keefe didn’t say he loved her, too.  
  


Keefe looked at the floor, suddenly, and sniffled. He reached up and grasped onto the hand she had on his chest, giving it a tiny squeeze. Keefe mumbled, “I have to leave.”  
  


Her heart dropped. She’d nearly forgotten about this part of the memory. “I know,” Sophie croaked. Sophie couldn’t tell why it really felt like goodbye, all over again. She knew it wasn’t happening, and that Keefe was back with them, but hearing him say that, seeing him in that cloak. . .  
  


Those weeks away from him had been rougher than she’d ever admit. She’d probably cried her hardest, then.  
  


When Keefe stepped towards her, Sophie didn’t quite get why he’d chosen to do that, since it had appeared he’d been very nervous about accidentally making Sophie scared of him. But then she heard the familiar phrase, “This next part is going to be rough,” and felt the whisk of heavy fabric coating her shoulders.   
  


Keefe wrapped his thick cloak tightly around her, beginning to fidget with it, trying to make sure it fit her petite frame snugly. When he clasped the button over her clavicle, he let his hands drift back to his sides. “It’ll keep you safe if you stay low and cover your head.”  
  


Old Sophie had argued with him on it, wanting to holler for help and scream at him until he answered her questions. Present Sophie agreed without another word, nodding in a flurry. “Okay.”  
  


Keefe’s left eyebrow jumped up. “Working on trusting me?”  
  


“I. . . _do_ trust you.”  
  


Keefe’s smile seemed brighter. “. . .Thank you.” Sophie watched as he took the familiar-but-still-peculiar triangular device from his pocket, thrusting up to throw it in the air. It attached to the center of the pyramid’s ceiling. Sophie blew out a long and heavy breath.  
  


This was it.  
  


She was going to have to live through this memory again.  
  


Sophie didn’t care about the pyramid that much. The explosion had been ear-piercing, yes, but beyond that she’d suffered no bodily harm, which had made it indefinitely easier.  
  


The issue was that she was going to need to watch Keefe leave again.   
  


This part had always clung to her consciousness and she could never really tell why, but there was some ache in her heart when she replayed the moment where he just. . . left her alone.  
  


As Keefe turned to lightleap with a crystal he’d dug out of his pant’s pocket, Sophie blurted, “Promise me you’ll come back.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows crashed together. “What?”  
  


“Promise me you’ll come back,” Sophie repeated frantically, “Or. . . Or I’ll. . .”  
  


She didn’t have a good enough threat to finish with.  
  


Keefe bit his lip. He took a breath. Another. One more. He then dipped his chin. “I promise, Foster.”  
  


Then he stepped into the path of light he had made and was gone.  
  


Sophie shivered. He was really. . . gone.  
  


It was the first time she’d been left alone in the dream and it made her feel uncomfortable and _extremely_ lonely. Stranded, even.  
  


Sophie had to force herself to get a grip on the present time, throwing the hood of Keefe’s cloak over her head as she sunk to the floor. Sophie cradled herself, reminding her mind that she’d be alright. That Keefe would be alright.  
  


_It’s okay.  
  
_

She screwed her eyes shut.  
  


 _It’s okay_.  
  


She waited for the high pitched screech to resound.  
  


Five seconds passed. Ten seconds ticked away. Ten turned into twenty.  
  


By twenty-five, Sophie fully expected a blast. She sat there, face contorted in a cringe as she braved her body for the explosion.   
  


However, none came.   
  


It got to the point where she was waiting so long that she wondered if she was even in the same place. She listened closely for the beep of the machine, but all that could be heard was a sort of distant sloshing.  
  


Sophie ripped her eyes open, not anticipating finding anything other than the glass pyramid. However, she was no longer in Master Leto’s former office. The dream had shifted to another memory.  
  


Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as she stumbled back a few steps. This was the second time Keefe’s mind had done so without knocking her out and it still baffled her, so Sophie found herself searching every corner of her skull for a migraine, wondering if she’d managed to black out and wake up without recognizing it.   
  


Sophie twisted and turned to take in the new scene. It wasn’t stunning by any means, from the jagged rocks scattered around to the pebbles that coated the ground. The puddles of liquified selkie skin that smelled like sour cheese won the prize for Most Disgusting Smell She’d Had To Endure. For once she wished Keefe’s memory didn’t retain details so well.  
  


Sophie searched until her gaze landed on her friend.   
  


Keefe stood across from her, Neverseen cloak billowing in the chilly wind. The original one he’d had remained slipped over Sophie’s shoulders, wrapped around her. Keefe’s was a new cloak; a replacement for the one he’d given to her in Leto’s office.  
  


When Sophie calmed to the level where she was again able to notice the small details, she made note that his face was scrunched, but she couldn’t decipher if it was from confusion or discomfort. Especially when he said, “Wow. I mean, I know my head isn’t a great place, but. . .”  
  


The playful smirk he forced didn’t meet his eyes.  
  


It took Sophie a few seconds to piece together why.   
  


Judging by the odd barks and howls, and the slop her boot was currently lodged in, she was on a beach full of selkies — namely Inktide Island. This had been during the time where Keefe was with the Neverseen. He’d snuck away to place a bead and note on her pillow in her room, convincing her to meet him at the stinky destination. When they met, she’d ended up searching Keefe’s mind with Fitz.  
  


Sophie turned around a couple times, inclining her head to see if she saw any trace of the teal-eyed boy, but he didn’t seem to be there. Keefe looked puzzled when she finally gave up in the search, regaining her focus.  
  


“Oh, uh. . .” She scrambled for an answer, knowing she hadn’t said anything back. “No, it’s not you. I’m sorry. My head. . .” Sophie winced, feeling terrible for lying. “My head hurts, is all.”  
  


How was lying going to get her through this? Surely that wasn’t going to be her ticket to waking her friend up.  
  


Keefe’s eyes widened when she said it, taking a few steps forward. “Are you alright? I didn’t feel any pain from you. . . I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have shown you those memories if I’d known that.”  
  


“It’s okay,” Sophie assured, furiously shaking her head when he got too close for comfort. Instantly her brain zoomed to the point of contact he made with her, which was reaching forward and placing his hand against her forehead, as if he was checking for a fever.  
  


“Weird,” he mumbled. “I still don’t feel it.” His eyebrows scrunched together.  
  


“It’s fading pretty fast,” Sophie said, taking his hand and removing it from her forehead. She dropped it when Keefe looked down between the two of them, where she remained holding onto his hand.  
  


Sophie stared out at the beach. The waves rolled onto the charcoal shores, the distant slosh of smooth pebbles sinking into her bones. Sophie inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. She only accomplished choking herself up from the stench.  
  


“Hm,” Keefe hummed curiously. She could hear the quirk in his voice. “That’s a pretty fascinating headache, then, don’t you think?”  
  


Sophie’s spine snapped to an erect position. She tried to roll her shoulders cooly, praying that the motion made her seem less agitated, or less like she had been caught. “Um, yeah.”  
  


“Uh-huh,” Keefe pursued, clicking his tongue. “It just. . . magically goes away. Like that.” Sophie caught his icy eyes when he snapped his fingers. “Kind of like it was never there, you know?”  
  


His smirk seemed too forced to lighten the mood. He cocked his head at her, observing her overall demeanor for a few seconds like he was studying a painting at an art gallery. His lips pursed as his eyes trailed over her smooth as marble, finally stopping when he regained that glorious eye contact.  
  
  


Sophie regretted not breaking it when she forgot how to breathe. It all happened in an instant, unable to be avoided or stopped, like the ocean returning to the shore. She caved into the chilled blue of his gaze like a sand castle, for once allowing herself to soak in the warmth that Keefe’s eyes held for her.  
  


Sophie had never noticed the ways Keefe tended to look at her — especially when he thought Sophie didn’t notice. _Now_ she was catching on to his warm glances and awe-filled gazes. Everything about it was so raw and _real_ that she didn’t know how to handle it.  
  


How had she never noticed the ways he’d glimpse at her? Was there more that she wasn’t noticing?  
  


And why did he look at her like that in the first place? It especially made no sense why Keefe was looking at her like that after she’d just attempted — and failed — to lie to his face.   
  


Keefe appeared to feel her unease, so he took a step back, putting space between the two of them. Sophie blushed, embarrassed that he’d felt the need to do that for her. She must have been radiating some seriously strong negative vibes if he had felt the need to do that without her indicating or asking for it directly.  
  


Not that the space even helped much. It was a mere couple of inches, just enough so that she wasn’t swallowing the exhales he released.  
  


Keefe straightened his posture, sighing. “You know. . .” He stopped when he saw that she was avoiding eye contact. He tried to regain it, but she stared at his boots instead, wishing the burning feeling of his eyes would go away.  
  


“You know you don’t have to be afraid of me, right?” Keefe whispered.  
  


Sophie begrudgingly scraped up courage to look at his face. His smile was dripping with sadness. “I know the cloak doesn’t help with the trust factor, but. . . I’d never. . .”  
  


“I’m not afraid of you.” Sophie choked out the promise, making it sound less-than convincing. Keefe even raised an eyebrow.  
  


“Then why am I getting fear?” He said it lightly, in more of a hushed tone. There was still a curious-but-respectable lilt to the edge of his voice.  
  


His startling blue eyes were prodding at her to answer, not letting her unlock gazes with him. Sophie swallowed, willing her cheeks not to warm under his hand. If she blushed, if he _felt_ her blush. . . Especially with him so close. . .  
  


Oh god, that would be the end of her. She’d curl up in a ball out of humiliation.  
  


“Sophie,” Keefe murmured when she didn’t answer. She felt his finger glide in a tender circle across her cheekbone. Her shoulders bounced up in a little startle. Sophie hadn’t even seen him lift his hand. “Why am I getting fear?”  
  


“It’s not that kind of fear,” Sophie forced out. She finally looked him in the eyes. “It’s not like I’m afraid of you like _that_. I’m not afraid you’re going to hurt me.”  
  


“But you’re _afraid_ of me,” Keefe insisted, dropping his hand from her cheek to place it over his heart. He tapped on his chest with it. “I feel it.”  
  


Sophie swallowed. What was she supposed to tell him? She wasn’t even fully sure why she was afraid of him. All she knew was that the thought of being that close, without boundaries, it scared her. She didn’t know what they were capable of in a place where no one could tell them no.  
  


At the same time, it wasn’t fright she was feeling, she was sure. Maybe it was dread, but that seemed too negative of a word to attribute to the mystery emotion. It could _not_ even be an emotion, too, perhaps. Was it just a form of anticipation?  
  


“Well, i–it’s not you.”  
  


Sophie took a step back, glaring at her foot when it trudged backwards into a puddle of oily black swirled with iridescent blue.   
  


“Then why are you backing away from me?”  
  


He took a step toward her, and in turn, she took one back. He repeated the process two more times before he gestured to her, like that said it all. “Foster.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “If you wanted to convince me you weren’t scared, that wasn’t the way to do it.”  
  


“It’s _not you_ , Keefe.”  
  


“Then tell me what it is,” he begged. Keefe looked more desperate than anything.  
  


Sophie swallowed, unsure of how to explain it to him when she wasn’t even certain on what it was. “Well, it’s. . . It’s not you as a person. It’s. . . something to do with you, though.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow peeked upwards. “So. . . What, is that supposed to be a hint? Are you going to make me guess?”  
  


Sophie blew out an irritated sigh. “Look, Keefe, I — I don’t even know what it is. I don’t know why, but whenever you. . .”  
  


_Get close to me, make eye contact with me, hold my hand, talk to me about my feelings like you always do. . .  
  
_

When Keefe gave her a prodding look, Sophie knew she’d never finished her sentence. She cleared her throat. “Do things, I don’t know. You get close to me sometimes, or whatever, and I feel weird? I don’t know how to explain it, alright? But that’s not what I’m here for.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows had launched up halfway through her bumbled explanation, where they remained. “Feel weird?” he asked.  
  


Sophie huffed. “Keefe,” she groaned. “Really, it’s _nothing_.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes roamed over her, dipping to her feet and rising to the top of her head. Once. Twice. Then he held her gaze. “Doesn’t feel like nothing,” Keefe whispered. He took a step forward.  
  


Sophie was proud for not physically flinching when he took another, and another. She knew her face was on fire, though. Her emotions were even worse, spiking and fluctuating faster than the ride rolling in through the pebbles. Sophie squeaked out, “Keefe,” which must have been too tiny a plea, because he didn’t stop.  
  


When Keefe’s boots tapped the toes of hers, he stopped. Sophie was holding her breath by then, all her focus lasering to the boy in front of her. Her heart crawled its way into her throat, forming a lump that made it difficult to choke out, “You’re not funny.”  
  


Keefe didn’t smile or laugh at her timid demeanor like he usually would. He just let his eyes drink in the sight of her again. He replied with an earnest, “I’m not trying to be funny.”  
  


Sophie couldn’t find the willpower inside of her to breathe. Every exhale and inhale felt like the whole world could hear it. Like it would shatter the atmosphere.  
  


“Tell me how it feels.”  
  


Sophie blinked. “What?” she whispered.  
  


“This,” Keefe replied. He tapped the toe of his boot against the tip of her foot, as if signaling to their close proximity. “Tell me how it feels.”  
  


“I. . . I don’t know, like I can’t fucking breathe?”  
  


Keefe’s laugh was brighter than Sophie’s blush. Sophie would’ve taken time to listen to it if she weren’t so busy turning red from how much her voice had shaken as she’d spewed it out. Keefe’s face remained gleamed with a hint of humor and warmth, even as his laughter faded and he returned to watching her gently. “That’s fair.”  
  


Keefe looked down, slipping his hands out of pockets, and then Sophie felt him scoop up her hand. He lifted them up so that Sophie could see the way they were woven. “How about this?”  
  


Sophie’s eyes remained glued to them. “I. . .”  
  


 _Now_ she was pretty sure she knew what Keefe was getting at. Sophie was still struggling to answer when Keefe wiggled his fingers, shifting them so that their hands were fully intertwined, palm-to-palm, fingers laced up as tight as their boots.  
  


Sophie didn’t know why, but her heart skipped a beat. “Keefe,” she said softly, cheeks flushing.  
  


Keefe didn’t answer her tiny call. He observed her quietly. Sophie didn’t know if he’d caught on to her little faltered-heartbeat-fiasco, but it was too late to find out, because he had moved on.  
  


Keefe’s fingers untethered from Sophie’s hand and she momentarily felt like breathing was possible again.  
  


It was short-lived bliss.  
  


“Tell me to stop if you don’t like anything,” Keefe advised before his hand trailed up to her shoulder. Sophie stared at it as it made contact with the rough fabric of his Neverseen cloak.  
  


 _Okay_ , her mind consoled, _it’s not that bad._ It wasn’t. She could still breathe and formulate sentences like a normal, cognitive person and _oh_ , he was moving.  
  


She sucked in a sharp breath, glad when the only sound that resonated was the tiniest squeak. She wasn’t foreign to his touch, but this was _new_. His finger accidentally brushed her neck on his way up. Sophie’s throat strained in retaliation. No matter how many times she swallowed, her muscles remained screwed up.  
  


A thumb grazed over her jaw. Sophie held her breath as a hand slipped over the side of her face, cupping her cheek. “This doesn’t do anything?”  
  


“No,” Sophie whispered. _Liar_. She wasn’t even a _good_ liar, either. Her voice had broken and her shallow inhale had sounded louder than the waves crashing against the shore. As if that hadn’t been enough, her knees had buckled. She was going to fall down, she swore.  
  


On top of that, Keefe had the ability to feel everything she felt. Which meant he had experienced all of the tingles in her body and the butterflies jumbling up her stomach.  
  


God.  
  


“Nothing?” Keefe repeated, looking less than convinced. A smidge of his smug grin was beginning to tickle his lips. “Nothing at all.”  
  


Sophie was halfway through shaking her head when his finger swirled over the skin. A jolt shot down her spine. Keefe reacted to it himself, eyes widening. Sophie wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for a few couple centuries when he flashed his eyes into hers, but he didn’t seem teasing. He looked serious.  
  


Was that better or worse?  
  


Out of the corner of her eyes, Sophie caught sight of his other hand rising to cup the other side of her face. Sophie sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand shot up and grasped around his wrist, catching him just before he touched her cheek. “Hang on,” she whispered, glad she didn’t squeak when she spoke. She didn’t even notice that she’d also grasped the other hand he already had touching her until she felt his fingers go rigid near her cheekbone.  
  


“Got it,” Keefe replied, freezing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Keefe’s smile had fully disappeared, morphed into a light wince.  
  


“Not scared,” Sophie peeped, sounding _very_ scared. She wished the squeak in her voice would go away, so she tried to swallow in hope that it would clear her throat. It did — but it came off looking like a nervous gulp. Why could she never play it cool?  
  


Sophie wanted to scoff. It was Keefe Sencen. Anything to do with him and her never seemed to be casual or simple. They were always wild and complex.  
  


And Sophie didn’t exactly _hate_ that; however it could get irritating when she wasn’t able to interpret what that meant for them.  
  


“You look pretty scared,” Keefe argued. Keefe didn’t seem to know what to do with the hand that was still against Sophie’s face. Sophie didn’t really know what to do, either. She wanted it off of her but she also didn’t. And no matter how much she debated back and forth in her head, she couldn’t get her fingers to loosen around his wrist.  
  


Sophie bit her lip. “No, um. Getting used to it. Sorry.” She dropped the one hand that hadn’t reached her. But she let the one on her cheek remain. Sophie blew out a breath, letting the fingers on his wrist relax. “I’m not scared of _you_ , just so you know. It’s not that.”  
  


She forced herself to take a few calming exhales as she leaned into his hand. Breathing was nice. When she felt her head begin to clear of the fog, she whispered, “Sorry.”  
  


Keefe still seemed hesitant to move his hand even an inch. He gave a scoff-laugh. “Foster, you don’t have to say you’re sorry.”  
  


“Yeah, well. . .” She didn’t actually know why she’d reacted the way she had. It was just his hand. It didn’t mean anything. “I have nothing against your hands, if that makes you feel better.” She ran her thumb along his wrist, hoping he ignored the way she shook.  
  


Keefe’s smile fluttered back. “Thanks, Foster. Your hands are pretty great, too.”  
  


She couldn’t help but snort out a giggle. “Never been complimented on my hands before.”  
  


“People should start doing that more often.”  
  


At Sophie’s eye roll, Keefe chuckled. Sophie smiled at him. The two slowly settled into silence, glad when it didn’t feel unnatural or forced. Sophie stared at the hand she had on his wrist, her focus lasering to the ghost of his skin brushing against her cheek. Sophie held back a tingle that wanted to crawl up her back.  
  


“Hey,” Sophie tweeted meekly.   
  


“Hm?”  
  


“. . .What did you feel?”   
  


She nibbled on her lip. She would probably regret asking that.   
  


Sophie gently released her grip on his wrist, drawing his eyes to her cheek. She was glad when his hand didn’t falter from its cupped position.  
  


Keefe’s hesitation reminded her of the dread of sitting in the doctor’s office, like she was waiting for some life-changing test result.  
  


Finally, Keefe made a tiny, “Hm,” sound. The small crease between the bridge of his nose became a valley.   
  


“Well,” he murmured, finger gliding across her cheekbone. She had to fight the shudder of fireworks that threatened to explode up her spine. “The good thing is it’s not fear I’m getting. But you were right about it being complex. I can’t put my finger straight on it, but it’s more-so a mix of. . .” Keefe’s sentence dissolved.  
  


“What?”  
  


He dropped his hand. Keefe swallowed. “Nothing. It’s. . . not my place to tell you that.”  
  


Sophie’s mind stumbled back a few steps. “Why not? I’m asking you to tell me. So, tell me.”  
  


“It’s not my place, Foster, okay? If I tell you. . . It might change things.” He smiled, but it looked strained. “Or, you know, you might stay as oblivious as ever. Either way, I’m not telling you.” Keefe paused, smiling dropping faster than her stomach. He quietly apologized. “I’m sorry.”  
  


Sophie shook her head. She crossed her arms and decided, “No. No, that’s not good enough.”  
  


Keefe blinked. “Well, Foster─”  
  


“No,” she interrupted. “I’m asking. Keefe, come on, _I’m asking_. I want to know.”  
  


Keefe sighed. “I know, Foster. I. . .” He closed his eyes and ran a quick hand down his face. “I know.”  
  


He knew, but he didn’t say anything else. His sentence ended there and regardless of Sophie silently waiting in hope that he’d proceed, he remained silent.  
  


Sophie repressed a sigh. “What, so. . . That’s it?”  
  


Keefe sighed for her, running an exhausted hand through his hair. His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”  
  


 _Well, then_. Sophie crossed her arms. She stared at her boots. Unable to muster a response, she resorted to chewing on her lip.   
  


Keefe’s cringe was accompanied by an audible wincing sound, which made Sophie flicker her eyes up for a split second before she threw them back to the pebbles below. She knew her annoyance was probably wafting off from her onto Keefe, but she couldn’t care much.   
  


“Foster. . . Please don’t take it personally. I’m not doing this to piss you off, okay? That’s the last thing I want. I really, _really_ don’t want to fight.”  
  


Sophie’s voice flooded with desperation. “Then tell me what it is.”  
  


His jaw set. It looked like Keefe had to physically restrain himself from opening it, like the answer might just slip out.  
  


Her eyes dropped to staring at her hands that time, like it was the better option. At least her fingers moved; Keefe was stubbornly rigid and unbending.   
  


But her hands were about as skilled in answering her questions as Keefe was.  
  


Why couldn’t he just tell her? He’d, what, wasted that time on the heart-flutter inducing exercise to wave her off and say it wasn’t his place to tell her? They were _her_ emotions. Her _emotions_. What would be so life-changing about them that he thought it was best for her to discover on her own?  
  


“This might be overstepping boundaries. . .”  
  


Sophie peeked up. Keefe had begun to twiddle with his own thumbs. He caught her line of sight.  
  


Sophie noticed the nervous glint glazed over the blue of his eyes, like he feared he was going to regret spitting out, “You know how. . . You know─ ugh. . . You have a secret that you’re keeping from Fitz?”  
  


Sophie’s mouth snapped shut.   
  


Right.   
  


Her secret.  
  


Sophie managed to blush _and_ pale. She’d almost forgotten that was even a thing. Had it seriously been _that_ obvious? In hindsight, it seemed like _everyone_ knew what had been going on except for her.  
  


And now that she’d actually spilled it. . . Now that she was past that stage of awkward bumbling, trying to conceal it, fighting to ignore their touches and everything she considered intimate in some silly way. . .  
  


It felt wrong to think about that time. It seemed too simple, compared to everything she’d seen, now that she’d gotten out of it.  
  


She missed it, in a sense. Sure, it had been horrible every time she’d doubted her worth because of it and terrible anytime it seemed like he was so extremely uninterested, but. . . It had been exhilarating and stupid and fun and she’d felt like a kid.  
  


Now she didn’t know what thinking of him made her feel like.  
  


If Keefe noticed how she’d gone stiff as a plank, he didn’t mention it. “You keep it from him because it’s something you’re afraid is going to drive you two apart. Right? . . .You don’t want to lose your friend.”  
  


Sophie swallowed. She couldn’t muster a reply. Keefe didn’t need one, though. They both knew it was true.  
  


She _hadn’t_ wanted to lose a friend. Fitz had been the person there from the beginning.   
  


The boy who’d searched for her since he was eight. The boy who’d coddled a crying stranger when she’d had to take the hard steps to leaving her past. The boy who’d introduced her to a world where she belonged. The boy who’d promised to stand by her side even when the rest of the elvin world turned the cold shoulder. The boy who’d set aside time to get a gift whenever he was reminded of her. The boy who’d endlessly supported the fight she’d chosen, even begging for her to let him get involved, to let him _help_.   
  


Maybe she was biased, because he was the first elf she’d been made known to, but. . .  
  


Sophie had always felt _saved_ by him.  
  


And now she felt lost.   
  


Hopelessly lost.  
  


“I’m not keeping this from you because I think you can’t handle it, Foster. I’ve seen all the things you’ve gotten through. I know this wouldn’t be a problem for you. But I. . . I don’t want to risk _you_. Or us, I guess.” Keefe swallowed. “Do you get it?”  
  


Sophie looked at him for the first time in a few minutes. Her eyebrows were knit, face a little contorted as her heart squeezed painfully, but she nodded. Her voice was far-too frail as she rasped, “I’ve got it.”  
  


Keefe’s face clouded with sadness, feeling the way her stomach fizzled. “Hey, Foster,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. Seriously. I don’t want—”  
  


“It’s not you,” she interjected, shaking her head. Sophie looked at him, holding his eyes. “It’s just. . . Life, okay? Life.” She shrugged, forcing herself to stare up at the sky. Maybe then she’d have an excuse if any tears fell. She could blame it on the silver-white light peeking through the clouds.  
  


“Well, _I’m_ a part of life.” He winced. “I know it was me, okay? Empath,” he muttered, lifting a hand like it said it all. “I didn’t mean to make you. . .”  
  


Sophie blew out a breath, wiping her glistening eyes. “I know.” She rolled on the heels of her feet, scattering a few shiny pebbles in the process. “I know. It’s fine, I don’t care. I need to think about it, anyway.”  
  


She did. It wasn’t going to go away. Not if she ignored it.  
  


Sophie had told him that she needed a break and that she wanted to be friends, for the time being. And Fitz would wait, Sophie knew that.   
  


But Sophie needed to figure out if _she_ could wait.  
  


Every part of her, from bones to brain and heart and skin, wanted to try again. She wanted to throw herself into the dark churning water and hope that she’d reach the shore this time.  
  


But if she took that leap there was always going to be the terrifying possibility that she’d drown.  
  


“I’m sorry, Foster.”  
  


“You don’t have to say you’re sorry, Keefe.”  
  


Keefe fidgeted with his sleeves. He muttered, “But you’re sad, now,” sheepishly avoiding eye contact with her.  
  


Sophie smiled a little, though the crease between her brows could still be seen. She knew it wasn’t a happy smile, not in the slightest; but she didn’t need to try to cover it up.  
  


“It’s okay,” Sophie swore. She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “It happens. Being sad isn’t always bad. Sometimes I need to be sad to think clearly. And I’m. . .” The breath she drew out was long and leisurely. “I’m thinking clearly.”  
  


She nodded with conviction to finish the statement, trying to convince herself more than Keefe. She was thinking a lot clearer, but it simultaneously felt like she’d muddled her canvas with too much paint.  
  


Keefe still looked ashamed, shoulders drooped while the foot of his boot stirred the pebbles at his toe.  
  


“Hey,” Sophie called gently, lifting her hand. She stepped forward, gesturing towards Keefe’s twined hands. He flicked his eyes up to look at her, eyebrows sewing together. She wiggled her fingers and nodded, slipping her hands over Keefe’s when he didn’t move. She allowed him enough space to step back or pull away if he wanted to and Sophie was beyond glad when he stayed, lacing their fingers together tighter.  
  


“It’s good,” Sophie promised again. “Seriously. It’s okay.”  
  


“It doesn’t _feel_ okay.”  
  


“Well, I’m telling you it’s okay. I’ll dig it out of you someday.” Sophie tried to pull a grin at him. It ended up a little lop-sided, some of her sadness still sunken into the corners.   
  


But it made Keefe smile a little, snorting, “You can try, sure.”  
  


“I _will_ try,” she vowed, “but for now. . . We’re good.”  
  


Keefe exhaled. “We’re good,” he repeated, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  
  


Keefe’s words were laced with conviction, yet the blond didn’t look all that convinced. No doubt he still worried that he’d messed up. Sophie felt about the same. She had to ignore the impulse to rip out her eyelashes with every second that ticked by.  
  


She squirmed. “This might be a little lame. . .”  
  


Keefe flicked his eyes to her.  
  


“Or even plain weird,” Sophie mumbled, “but. . . You think we could hug?”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow shot up faster than a firework. “After that?” Despite his uncertainty, Sophie noticed how he’d subconsciously put one foot foreword before stopping himself.  
  


“I’m _not_ scared of you. Besides, this is okay because it's, um, well. . . My choice.” Sophie’s face was brighter than a power plant.  
  


Keefe shrugged, laughing a little as he took the required steps forward. Keefe let Sophie envelop him first before he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re all over the place today, you know that?”  
  


“Yeah,” Sophie mumbled into his shoulder. “Sorry.”  
  


“You don’t have to apologize, Foster, gosh. I’m teasing you. Do you not know what joking is?”  
  


Sophie rolled her eyes, eliciting a chuckle from Keefe. It felt good to hear him laugh.  
  


Sophie hummed. “You wanna know how this feels?”  
  


Keefe’s chest bounced with more laughter. His head bobbed, rubbing against Sophie’s. “Sure, why not. How?” he asked into her hair.  
  


Sophie smiled, burrowing her face into his shoulder. “Nice,” she whispered. “It feels really nice.”  
  


Keefe hummed into her hair. The vibrations near her scalp and ear made her want to shiver. “I’ll have to agree with you on that, Foster.”  
  


Sophie tried to prevent her smile from blooming wider, nuzzling close to his shoulder.  
  


As Sophie basked in the warmth Keefe emitted, she found her eyes drooping. At first, it was subtle, like they were heavy and sore, but then they turned to lead, and Sophie tried to fight the urge to keep them close. Her knees felt wobbly, ready to buckle any second. A call for sleep thrummed in the back of her head.  
  


She was suddenly very, _very_ tired.  
  


Sophie leaned a bit too far forward, but Keefe adjusted her in his arms, probably completely unaware that she wasn’t fully awake anymore. But she didn’t mind. She knew he’d catch her. Sophie knew she was safe.  
  


Sophie let Keefe’s arms brace her as she gave in to the desperate tug in the back of her mind. She let herself rest and drift into the familiar oasis that would float her to another memory.  
  


Her echoes didn’t bother her once.


	7. Chapter 7

RED. THE FIRST THING she saw was the colour red. It wasn’t bright like a lobster or firey like autumn leaves, but dark and stewed like cherries.   
  


The next thing Sophie became aware of was the putrid, iron stench that wafted through the air and from there it only took a split second for her brain to register what she was staring at — and what her hands were coated with.  
  


Blood.  
  


Sophie’s hands shook. She stared at the blood as she sucked in a gut-wrenching breath. Sophie shivered, eyes rolling over the figure propped against a wall in front of her, finding the source of the crimson was a wound in their torso.  
  


 _Keefe_.  
  


“No,” Sophie choked, knowing where she was without a doubt. “Oh, _no_.”  
  


Keefe’s arm was glued to himself. He had it suctioned over his wound, like he didn’t want her to see the damage. Sophie wrapped her hand around Keefe’s forearm and he flinched, tensing. “Foster—”  
  


“It’s fine. Let me see.”  
  


“It’s really not that bad—”  
  


“Keefe, _let me see_. I need to see.”  
  


Keefe pulled a smile that looked-all-too-uncomfortable, straining to mask the pain he was in. “Come on, Foster, if you want to peek at my abs, you can just ask.”  
  


“ _Keefe_.”  
  


Keefe’s smile unfurled like a sail. He made a noise close to a sigh and grumbled as he peeled his arm back.  
  


Sophie had seen it once before, but it still made her intestines squirm. The long gash streaked its way from one side of his stomach clear to the other, pressed perfectly beneath his ribcage, fresh and pulsing with blood. Sophie wanted to gag at the reeking aroma of iron.  
  


“It’s fine,” Keefe grunted, looking _much_ less than fine.  
  


Sophie couldn’t even muster a reply, hand reaching to cover the seeping wound. She wasn’t able to cover the entire thing, even with two hands, so she settled for holding somewhere near the center, praying that didn’t make it worse.  
  


Keefe groaned in dissatisfaction at the rough application of pressure and Sophie apologized squeakily, trying her best not to tear up. Seeing him like it again had her reliving the fear she’d initially felt — with an added pinch of anger if she was being honest.  
  


Sophie took one hand and fisted it into her cape pocket. She scurried around for the panakes petals she knew she’d stored. When she didn’t find any in the left pocket, she switched to the right, beyond thankful when her hand returned with a cluster of blue, pink, and purple flowers.  
  


If his mind hadn’t retained that detail, she would have been screwed.  
  


Sophie didn’t want to lift her hand off the gash, so she ordered Keefe, “Open,” before shoving some of the petals into his mouth. He made a whine at her as he nearly choked on the petals, eventually forcing them down his throat. “You don’t have to be so rough about it, Foster, _damn_. A warning would have been appreciated. I don’t want flowers in my lungs.”  
  


Sophie didn’t respond, not sure she could deal with his half-hearted teasing then. She reached back into her pocket, pulling out more flowers before switching hands on his chest, applying the petals to the injury.  
  


Sophie whirled her head around, searching for Keefe’s discarded shirt and cape. She spied his cape, reaching over and snatching it from the dusty floor. Sophie swiftly tore it into long strips, Keefe wincing at the shredding sound. When Sophie deemed the amount of makeshift bandages to be enough, she leaned forward, wrapping them around his torso with shaky hands.  
  


“Foster,” Keefe said, making a tiny, “Hmmph,” when Sophie cinched one strand a little too tight.  
  


“What?” she asked, seizing the rest of Keefe’s shredded cape. She started to work on more strips when Keefe reached over with a bloody hand, placing it on top of her trembling ones. Seeing his slick-with-red fingertips made Sophie’s stomach clench uncomfortably.  
  


“Calm down. It’s enough.”  
  


“It’s not enough,” Sophie protested. “Look, you’re still bleeding.”  
  


Despite Sophie already having gone through it once before, she remained baffled by how much blood Keefe was spilling. His wound seemed to be continually pulsing, letting the crimson bleed through his bandages, pool down his chest and soak into the waistband of his pants.   
  


Keefe shook his head with conviction. “It’s enough, I promise.”  
  


Sophie met his eyes when he refused to look away from her, but even though she believed his words because of how steady his eyes were and she wasn’t too concerned because it was a dream, she returned to the strips of cape.   
  


Keefe sighed, leaning back against the dirt wall that glittered with different amoebas and bacteria. He looked slightly dazed as he glanced around, observing all the patches of colour. “It’s kinda cool, don’t you think?”  
  


“If you ignore the battle axes hanging on the wall, sure.”  
  


Keefe snorted. His eyes drifted to the wall full of weapons. He seemed fixated on the gleaming devices, then, gaze not lifting off the silver metals and dark leathers. “They’re kind of cool, too, though, yeah? That has to take a lot of time to meld those together.”  
  


Sophie made a tiny snort. “Not for humans. They can mass produce them without ever having to touch them. I wouldn’t be surprised if ogres do the same.” Keefe opened his mouth to argue some more, but Sophie interrupted him, “And they’re only cool when they’re not being stabbed into your stomach.”  
  


Sophie finished wrapping two more bandages around his chest, heart pounding a pathway into her throat when she could see more blood soaking through. Her stomach became fizzy, at first, but it quickly turned to stewing, and that became boiling. _Boiling_ , red-hot anger that curled and withered all of her insides. She didn’t know who she wanted to unleash her fury onto, whether it be Keefe for his brainless actions, Dimitar for the joy he took in hurting Keefe, or even Gisela for requesting the challenge.  
  


Keefe watched her carefully. From the way he squirmed, Sophie knew he sensed her unease. He delicately advised, “Easy with the Foster-rage. It’s gonna be okay.”  
  


“Is it, though?” Sophie replied. “Are you really going to be okay? Because you don’t know that. Once again, you’ve decided to take your own path and not listen to me. And look where we are.”   
  


A spell of silence followed.  
  


“. . .I’m going to be okay. You don’t even need to ask.” Keefe grit his teeth as he grunted it out, which made the statement a whole lot less convincing. Keefe also notably avoided responding to her last few jabs.  
  


Sophie sighed, exasperated. “I just. . .” She closed her eyes for a moment out of frustration. After focusing on taking deep breaths until she could breathe properly, she opened her eyes again.  
  


Sophie shook her head, glaring at the wound. “It’s just that _this_ . . . This is why you should listen to me.”  
  


“Better me than you.” Keefe yelped when Sophie held up a fistful of panakes, like she was going to clobber him over the head with her bare fist.  
  


“Don’t say that,” she snapped. “I don’t find that funny.”  
  


“I’m sorry,” he apologized, hissing when she switched hands again to apply fresh petals over the wound. It didn’t seem to help as she had hoped. Was there this much blood originally?  
  


Sophie rolled her eyes at his apology, wanting to snarl at him. She bit her tongue, though, replying, “That’s the issue: you’re not sorry.” Sophie stopped fiddling with his wound for a second, locking eyes with him. “That’s what you really think. And I _hate_ it.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes seemed rounder when he noticed the tears pool in her eyes. He held their gaze in silence, mouth slightly agape. He seemed stuck in between closing his mouth and saying something, like there was an invisible candy bar wedged between his teeth. “I mean. I. . .” His sentence faded.  
  


Sophie shook her head seconds after he stopped to swallow. “I just. I don’t understand it, okay? No matter how many times I try to pick you up and convince you that you mean something to people, you just. . . You throw it away. Like it’s nothing.” Sophie took a deep breath when Keefe stayed silent, letting her vent. “And maybe. . . Maybe it’s selfish of me, or plain stupid, but that hurts. I feel like you don’t listen to me. Or trust me.”  
  


Keefe grew silent. “I trust you more than anyone else.”  
  


“Doesn’t feel like it,” she mumbled. Sophie used the back of her hand to furiously swipe at her eyes. She sniffled, profusely blinking. She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes beginning to water.  
  


Sophie could barely see the glowing bacteria and amoebas littered on the walls or ceiling through the blurry lens obscuring her vision. She dropped her head down but rapidly turned away from Keefe so that she could rub at her eyes again.  
  


She began to wonder how many times she’d cried since she’d gotten in Keefe’s mind. Sophie needed to begin keeping tally because it was seriously getting out of hand. But she couldn’t help it. Not really.  
  


The back of Sophie’s eyes stung. The feeling reminded her of the shock and buzz before crying, but she wasn’t tearing up. Yet, her body was reacting to something.   
  


Her vision fuzzed. Sophie had to ignore the urge to clutch at her heart when it flexed.  
  


 _Monster._ That was the only thought Sophie had when her body became numb. She closed her eyes as her sight vanished. Her ears pulsed with a droning ring.  
  


Oh, this was _the_ worst time to have an issue with her echo. And why was it acting up so much? Sophie was just sad. She’d been sad plenty of times before. _Why_ did it choose to attack _now_?  
  


Claws scraped the back of her skull. Sophie winced. Her heart skittered, throat tightening.   
  


_Breathe, breathe, breathe. Think of something else_.  
  


Sophie called back the memory of Flori singing to her. Her song about darkness and light, the relationship between, and the strength she knew was hidden in her veins.   
  


It didn’t prevent the visions.   
  


Red-rimmed hazes she couldn’t control.   
  


Bonds around her wrists that she couldn’t break.  
  


A family she was too weak to protect.  
  


A wound too deep for her to heal.   
  


A fire too bright for her to douse.  
  


A legacy she couldn't prevent.  
  


 _Stop, please. Stop_.  
  


“Foster.”  
  


That was her name. She knew that voice. She knew that voice. Who was she holding onto? Who was talking to her? She couldn’t see. She was stuck, trapped. . .  
  


The voice called for her more times. Each time it grew more desperate.  
  


Something clamped over her hands. Warm and rough and. . . It was another pair of hands.  
  


“Sophie. I’m here. Calm down. Please. Hey. Say something.”  
  


 _Keefe_.  
  


A cool, icy strand zinged through her mind, the chilled feather tickling even the darkest corners.   
  


Sophie’s mind pooled with blue. Simply the colour blue, burbling over all of her thorny, harrowing anxieties. It left her mind soft as clay, unmolded and unwarped from the world. Untouched and new, yet to be thrown into the kiln of life, doomed to be glazed, dried, and shattered. She was new again, for a single fleeting second.  
  


The haze faded gently. Sophie was left breathing slowly, blinking in surprise at the boy in front of her.  
  


Eventually, it clicked: he’d sent her a few breezes.  
  


From the haunted look of surprise on his face, Sophie knew she should say something because it was technically the first time he’d ever been able to do that. He was most likely confused, but all Sophie could do was stare at their now-intertwined hands and the thumb he had swirling over her palm in a soothing manner.  
  


Sophie was sent back to the first time Keefe had sent her a breeze: Dimitar had gotten out of the ring and seeing Keefe wounded, he’d teased him for his injuries (even going so far as to poke fun that Keefe wasn’t as weak as he’d had originally thought.)  
  


That had nearly been Sophie’s undoing. She’d lost control of her body, by that point, every inch of instinct inside her forming into one massive target and goal: to unleash the burbling cauldron of fury.   
  


The only issue would have been that she couldn’t target. Her infliction hadn’t been modified to what it was today and she would have wound up unchaining the monster to devour anyone and everyone in the room.  
  


Sophie had been so far gone in her red-rimmed haze that she could barely breathe or feel the outside world. She would have gone through with it if it hadn’t been for Keefe.  
  


Sophie still didn’t know why or how Keefe had thought of taking off her gloves to use her enhancement. Whether instinct or a gut feeling that their bond graced him with, it didn’t matter. It was magnificent.  
  


“What was that?” Keefe asked, breathless. “You were blacked out, but still. . . I don’t know, in control of your body? You didn’t fall forward or anything.”  
  


“Got scared,” she rasped. “I’m sorry.”   
  


“Don’t say sorry.”  
  


“You’re _bleeding_ and I. . .” Sophie found herself staring at their conjoined hands, unable to tear them apart. At least they were pressed on his torso. Sophie shook her head. “This is not the time for blue breezes,” she decided in a whisper.  
  


“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” His incredulous, exasperated look twisted into a neutral expression. After a few breaths he seemed calm. The corner of his mouth twitched, of all things, as he gingerly ran his thumb along her jawline. Sophie didn’t know when his hand had gotten there. “It’s calming you down.”  
  


Seeing her eyes lasered onto his fingers swirling over her cheek, he respectfully dropped his hand. Sophie cleared her throat.  
  


“All I’m saying is you shouldn’t be worrying about me right now. That should be the last thing on your mind.”  
  


“That seems to be the issue, doesn’t it?” Keefe somewhat agreed, smiling to himself. He locked eyes with her. “You’re always the first thing on my mind.”  
  


There was that damned look again. That _stupid_ , insignificant look that felt like it was crafted solely for her. That look that made her stomach erupt with a tidal wave of butterflies, that made her feel important, that made her want to paint over her cheeks with concealer to hide the dawning heat.   
  


“Also, you were kinda blacked out and flooded with fear and also you wouldn’t respond to me, so.”  
  


Sophie bit the inside of her cheek. “You are. . . _Incredibly_ stupid.”  
  


“You’re smart,” Keefe replied. “So smart.” He sounded baffled and when Sophie dared to glance at his face, his eyes looked distant, even as they held firm to where his thumb traced her jaw. The corner of his mouth lifted and Sophie followed it, exhaling unsteadily.  
  


“Keefe—”  
  


“Serious, Foster,” he interrupted, locking eyes with her. He held her chin to prevent her from looking down at his torso again. “I don’t tell you that enough. I don’t tell you a lot of things enough. . . But you’re really, _really_ smart.  
  


A lump formed in Sophie’s throat.  
  


Keefe’s hand didn’t drop from her chin. “I trust you,” he murmured. “And I don’t mean to ignore the warnings you give me or go against our plans. I _don’t_. But sometimes. . . I feel like you don’t rely on me. And I know that’s stupid, because you listen to me all the time and stuff, but I feel like. . .”  
  


Sophie felt his thumb skim across her jaw.   
  


“I feel useless, is all, okay? And I’m scared that you put yourself at risk too much.”  
  


“ _You_ put yourself at risk too much.”  
  


“I know,” Keefe concurred. His sigh was prolonged when Sophie gestured to his abdomen. “I know. It’s bad. I’ll. . .” He paused. “I can try. Okay. I’ll fix it. I’m sorry.”  
  


“You can’t tell me sorry and then do something behind my back, again, Keefe.” She motioned her finger between them, voicing, “That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work.”  
  


“Okay.” Keefe bobbed his head. “That’s not how we work. I’ve got it.”  
  


Sophie grabbed on his wrist, making the thumb along her jaw pause. “Promise?”  
  


He didn’t hesitate. “Promise.”  
  


Sophie raised her eyebrow. Keefe nodded at her again and when she caught the wholly serious glimmer of his eyes, her shoulders relaxed. Even though it wasn’t a promise he’d remember, it made her feel a little better. If he could agree to it, now. . . Maybe Sophie could get him to promise her that in real life.  
  


Of course, there was still the possibility that he’d end up breaking that promise.  
  


Keefe wasn’t looking directly in her eyes. Rather, he skimmed his gaze across her, like he was trying to take in a glimpse of scenery. Like she was a sunset that would fade soon. Like he didn’t have the time to risk glancing away. Like he’d waste her.  
  


In any other situation Sophie would have found it squirm-worthy, but at that point it made her heart contract. There could be so many different reasons he had that look on his face and the one that her mind fixated on had Sophie’s eyes wanting to go at round two of crying.  
  


“Hey, don’t. . . Don’t look at me like that.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows popped up when she addressed him. “Like what?”  
  


“Like any second you’re going to. . .” Sophie couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence, shaking her head as she released his wrist. She applied more pressure to his ribcage. Keefe’s hand dropped from her chin.  
  


There seemed to be no one else in this dream universe, so Sophie couldn’t just bring Keefe to Elwin or anything like last time. And everything was so painfully realistic that she feared his brain would eventually. . .  
  


If it did happen to him, she knew it wasn’t real.   
  


But a part of her would always feel like it was.  
  


Sophie knew she was wigging out too much when she started envisioning wanderlings, so she was grateful when Keefe broke the tension with a sincere, “It’s just a scratch, Foster.” He picked up his hand and put it over the one she had pressed to his chest. The motion caused him to wince at how it moved the muscles near the wound. But he grit out, “I’m not going to die.”  
  


Sophie shook her head. “It’s a lot more than a scratch. You’re going to have to stay on bed rest for weeks.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow slanted, a look of amusement flitting over his features. All traces of the pain vanished for that second. “And how would you know that?”  
  


Sophie shrugged. “I just do. Smart, remember?”  
  


Sophie tapped her temple with two fingers, eliciting a smile from Keefe. “Yes,” he agreed. “Very smart.”  
  


Sophie couldn’t muster a smile in return. Keefe noticed. Soon his expression sombered, mirroring Sophie’s melancholy one.   
  


In the silence, Sophie kept her attention on Keefe’s injury. She attempted to keep the blood flow constricted, but her hands grew sore every now and then. Keefe joined her hands at one point, mentioning something about how he thought he deserved a bucket of prattles and a few alicorn visits after he recovered, which made Sophie snort.  
  


Sophie caught his gaze, when her laughter ceased. The lines of Keefe’s face were softer than ever, which caught her by surprise. Not that he hadn’t ever given her a look similar to that — she just was never _prepared_ for those looks. She never felt like she had enough time to get ready to stomach them. Everytime she got a reaction like that from Keefe, her stupid stomach butterflies would decide it was time to flock.  
  


Sophie took a minute to determine why he was giving her that look.  
  


Sophie repressed a wistful sigh. She sent out a wish to the universe that she could flick off their connection for a moment, like a lightswitch. He knew she was worried for him. That was the issue. If she could flick it off, for that moment, she would. That way he wouldn’t continually catch her wisps of sadness. Then he wouldn’t look at her like _that_. And then he wouldn’t make her stomach feel like it was plummeting off the side of a cliff.  
  


All of a sudden, Sophie sensed more blue drift through her veins. It spiraled from Keefe’s hands to her own. The power sank into her body like warm honey, pumping to her heart and brain, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she held Keefe’s wound, all while Keefe held her.  
  


“Just breathe, Foster. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  


And she did breathe. She closed her eyes and sucked in a large but steady breath. Her exhale was just as slow.   
  


By the time she opened her eyes, she recognized the drowsiness that had begun to tug at her mind. She forced herself to stay awake and aware long enough to ask, “Promise?”  
  


Keefe’s smile was the last thing she saw. “Promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

SOPHIE DIDN’T EXPECT to open her eyes and be met with cartoon gulons. She stared at them for a solid seven seconds before she tore her eyes away to peek at the floor beneath her feet, which turned out to be pristine and shiny; a drastic change from the sod floor of the cave in Ravagog.   
  


She was somewhere new. And so were the gulons.   
  


The cartoon animals were printed on paper wrapped around a box, which was being outstretched by someone’s hands - a gift.  
  


Sophie peered at her own hands, noting that Keefe’s blood had been washed away. She looked back at the offering. Sophie had to stare at it a little longer until she remembered what it was — and who it was from.  
  


If she tore back the wrapping paper there would be two intricately painted portraits: One, a large shot of her and her friends on the cliff sides of Havenfield and two, a more humble family painting of her, Grady, and Edaline.  
  


This memory was set in the week where she’d stormed two Nightfalls to save her human parents, who’d been abducted by the Neverseen. It had been in the middle of midterms, hence the gift Keefe had for Sophie.   
  


Still, that wasn’t the only reason for the beautiful paintings she knew were contained inside the wrapping paper: they doubled as a peace offering.  
  


Sophie glanced up into Keefe’s eyes. He stood in front of her with a sheepish grin, dishevelled hair, and a nervous glint stationed in his icy eyes — which seemed odd to Sophie, because Keefe had been so much more lively the first time they’d gone through this. She remembered him going on and on about his gift. He’d been confident that she’d like it.  
  


But maybe that had just been Sophie’s interpretation. The Keefe she saw before herself presently might’ve reflected how he’d really felt that day, in that moment.   
  


She tried to paint the picture of his emotions from what she saw before her, physically.  
  


He’d been nervous. Nervous for the gift itself, sure. Worried that she wouldn’t like it. He had taken a long time to put it together for her.  
  


But deep down, he was scared that he’d tattered their friendship.  
  


Which was. . . _Sort of_ true, in a sense. He’d made a tear in their trust, but they’d managed to somewhat bandage it back up.  
  


Somewhat was really the key word.   
  


Sophie _had_ forgiven him. She still forgave him to this day. And for the most part, her anger had fizzled away.  
  


But she was tired. Tired of chasing after his trust like he didn’t want her to reach it.  
  


“I know presents can’t fix everything, but I figured—”  
  


Keefe barely got a word out, before he made a sort of grunted “oof” sound when Sophie catapulted her arms around him. His arms had shot outwards the instant she’d sunk against him, as if he didn’t want his arms to be trapped between them like an awkward sandwich. So they hung in the air for a bit, hovering, like he didn’t know if it was okay to touch her (despite the fact that she was literally wrapped around his torso.)  
  


Sophie nuzzled her nose into his shoulder.   
  


She’d been brash with him, already. She’d put her foot down and told him she didn’t like it when he lied to her or planned things behind her back. She’d raised her voice. She’d snapped. She’d cried. And now?   
  


She didn’t quite know what was left.  
  


Maybe a mixture of all of it.  
  


“Whoa,” Keefe whispered., clearly sensing it was an emotional moment. “Hey. Foster.”  
  


Sophie didn’t know what exactly she was feeling, but whatever it was, there was a lot of it. Her chest burned a little and her eyes pricked with tears.   
  


Sophie buried her head further into his shoulder.  
  


Keefe let go of his gift, levitating it safely to the floor so that he could place an arm over her back. “Hey,” Keefe whispered, placing a hand on top of her hair. “What’s wrong? You’re really sad all of a sud—”  
  


“I hate you.”  
  


The fingers he had caressing her scalp paused. They were glued in a rigid position for a few seconds before they nervously continued their strokes. Sophie heard Keefe swallow. “Um. Oh?”  
  


Sophie made some sort of garbled noise, between a laugh and a choke. “Yeah. I hate you because. . .” She shook her head against his chest, never lifting it. She couldn’t handle peeling her body away from his. Not so soon. She needed to feel his chest moving with every breath. And she _definitely_ couldn't look him in the eye. “I hate you because you’re easy to come back to. I keep coming back to you.”  
  


“. . .Foster.” His voice was strained, like the muscles in his throat had become taut. She could already hear the regret.  
  


“You’ve got to listen to me,” she pleaded, even though she knew the attempt was futile. She wasn’t actually back in time, and she couldn’t save him from what had happened. She couldn’t prevent or erase it. That was why she was where she was, after all. “ _Please_. When I tell you to do something for your own safety, I need you to _listen to me_.”  
  


Sophie pulled back, just enough to look at him as she spoke with him. Keefe’s eyes were soft and wide as he gazed down at her.   
  


All Sophie could focus on was how his shirt wasn’t soaked through with blood. How the scar was covered up by his tunic. She knew it was there. She knew how ugly and deep the wound had been. She knew how agonized his cries had been from inside the ring. When he’d been pinned. And slashed. And shoved into the salt.  
  


She would never forget it.   
  


But Keefe seemed to have that as a superpower.   
  


It was almost like he didn’t care about it. Like he didn’t care about himself or his safety. He was so reckless that it was frustrating.

  
But she knew that already.  
  


Sophie caught his line of sight again. Keefe must have known what was on her mind from the look in her eyes and the shift in her emotions. A muscle in his cheek ticked.  
  


“Foster, I ─ I’m right here. I’m better.”  
  


“Yeah, because you’re getting lucky. You won’t get lucky everytime, Keefe. The more you push this, the higher the chance that you get hurt so bad that. . . “   
  


She couldn’t even say it. She could barely think about that possibility, that _fear_ , much less voice it aloud to him.   
  


Sophie’s throat burned. She ended up pushing her face into his shoulder again. “The more you push this, the higher the chance that we lose you, okay?”  
  


Keefe stiffened under the brush of her forehead against his collarbone. Sophie exhaled shakily, shivering. She held onto him tightly, like he was a sandcastle that was going to crumble if she didn’t keep him together.   
  


Keefe didn’t understand the true weight of her words. He didn’t know that all of this was a dream. Or that Sophie was struggling to figure out a way to drag him out of the sickeningly sweet lie he had lodged himself into. He didn’t know that his actions had consequences — and he was paying.  
  


Keefe never seemed to learn. Everytime Sophie got done advising him against something, he’d turn his back and do it anyway, even if he’d sworn to her it wouldn’t happen. It was making her seriously wonder if he did it just to give her a heart attack.  
  


And everytime that he paid for going against her word, the punishment seemed to get worse. With every new sacrifice, she thought that was it — _surely_ that was the worst that could happen to them and surely they’d hit rock bottom and surely it was only the climb up that they had to endure, from then on.  
  


Sophie would always turn out to be wrong.   
  


She had no idea what she was going to do if this was like the rest, where they appeared to be nowhere near the end of the dark tunnel.  
  


Keefe’s chest rose, derailing her thoughts. “Foster . .” He exhaled long and slow into her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be worried for me.” The last part came out hushed.  
  


Sophie pulled back from his embrace, just enough to be able to look him directly in his eyes. “ _Why_ wouldn’t I be worried for you, Keefe?” she asked. “In what world do you think I wouldn’t be worried for you? You were hurt! You could have been maimed! You could have _died_ .”  
  


Keefe opened his mouth to reply but Sophie interrupted him. “And don’t even get me _started_ on _this_ .” Sophie detangled from him, pressing two fingers lightly over the underside of his ribcage. She knew underneath his jerkin and shirt that there was a scar there. A permanent one, at that.  
  


Keefe looked appalled as he grabbed her by the wrist. He furiously shook his head. “Foster, _no_ .” He seemed downright horrified as he begged, “Please don’t tell me you feel guilty for that. That wasn’t you.”  
  


“Well, I sure couldn’t stop you!” she snapped. Her narrowed, blazing eyes rounded out, turning into two soft moons. “If I’d. . . If I’d done _anything_ else, if I’d tried harder. . .”   
  


She knew she wasn’t wholly talking about what had happened during the sparring with Dimitar, anymore. She was stuck thinking about the anguish she’d felt in his mind, when Sophie had refused to leave him during the time in Loamnore. Reliving the way she’d cradled his consciousness as it tried to flee from the darkness.  
  


Keefe wasn’t aware of that, though. He assumed she was talking about how he’d volunteered to be the Mercadir and how terribly that had spiralled out of control. How she’d spent time away from him after he’d disobeyed her, needing a break after that branch of trust had been clipped.  
  


A break. God. Now an idea like that seemed crazy, because she wasn’t sure she could imagine distancing herself from Keefe once he woke up.  
  


 _If_ he woke up. She didn’t seem to be doing too brilliantly, so far.  
  


Keefe’s fingers steepled together and he lifted them near her chin. Just before he touched, he halted, stiffening, as if he was becoming aware of what he was doing. He dropped his hand quickly and settled with wrapping their fingers together.   
  


“I didn’t know it made you feel that way.” Keefe’s mouth twitched with a sheepish smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Wow. Pretty sore excuse from an Empath, don’t you think?”  
  


“Not really,” Sophie affirmed, blinking back the mist clogging her vision. “I know how to hide things.” She looked at their feet and whispered, “I’m working on it.”  
  


Keefe didn’t say anything for a spell. He watched her for awhile, content with seeing the way her eyes fluttered and her chest rose and fell with each of her breaths. Eventually he managed, “I’m not great with that, either.” Sophie felt his thumbs slide over her knuckles. His lips morphed into a regretful smile. “I hide a lot of things from you. Not proud of it, but I do.” Keefe held her eyes as he said the last part.  
  


Sophie blinked. She knew it wasn’t the time to go off on a tangent, but she couldn’t stop herself from blurting, “What things do you hide from me?”  
  


Keefe’s smile slipped. "Well. . ." He stood there, watching her earnestly and then his face was cracking into a sudden smile as he chuckled softly. “Hey, no angry eyebrows. Angry eyebrows don’t make me wanna tell you.”  
  


Sophie didn’t fully formulate what he had said before he had reached up and set the tip of his thumb between her brows. He gingerly rubbed the crease between them, which faded as Sophie’s face muscles relaxed. He dropped his hand.  
  


“They weren’t angry eyebrows,” Sophie defended. Though, she was now making a conscious effort to keep her eyebrows still. “They were. . . Curious. And you’re the Empath. You should know that.”  
  


Her cheeks bloomed with a blush. Keefe smiled. “Whatever you say.”   
  


When he looked ready to carry them off onto that branch of conversation, Sophie interrupted him before he could begin. “No stalling,” she ordered. “What do you hide from me?”  
  


“If I told you, I wouldn’t be hiding it anymore—” Keefe winced when Sophie glared at him, a few heavy sheets of annoyance rolling off of her. “Okay. Okay, I got it.”  
  


Keefe released the world’s heaviest and longest sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them he tore a hand through his hair. “I. . . I don’t know?” He averted his gaze from hers. His voice became hushed. “I hide things from you that I think will hurt you. I hide things because I think that hiding it will. . . protect you, I guess.”  
  


Sophie lifted a calculated brow. “You think you’re protecting me? By keeping secrets?” Her voice was unamused.  
  


Keefe’s smirk felt too strained to raise her aching spirits. “I never said it was a solid plan.” At Sophie’s eye roll, Keefe added, “Don’t go judging me like that. You know you do the same thing,” with a poke to her side.  
  


“But you’re way worse with it,” Sophie asserted. “You put yourself in danger while trying to protect me. And while I might do that sometimes, it’s not always on purpose like _you._ You _know_ you’re disobeying the literal _pleas_ I’ve given you whenever you throw yourself into the line of fire, but you _do it anyway_ .”  
  


Keefe shattered their eye contact. She noticed the slight slump of his shoulders. He forced a sheepish smile and his cheeks flushed a light crimson colour. “I guess I have self-sacrificing tendencies.”  
  


“You don’t say,” Sophie replied dryly.  
  


Keefe rubbed the back of his neck briefly, swooping his hand up to brush his fingers through his hair. He exhaled. “I _am_ trying to fix it.”  
  


“I know.”  
  


“I don’t mean to hurt you.”  
  


She sighed. “I know.”  
  


“. . .There anything I can do, for now?”  
  


Sophie shrugged. “For now? Keep getting better at it. And I _mean_ it,” Sophie added, when he had already begun to nod in a flurry. “I don’t like being blindsided. Not by you. And especially not when it risks your safety.”  
  


“I can try that,” Keefe vowed.  
  


Sophie bit her lip. She felt a little cruel for saying it, but. . . “No,” Sophie hedged. She shook her head. “No, you can’t just try, Keefe. Seriously. You either can or you can’t. I’m — _we’re_ — past trying. We can’t do this again.”  
  


 _I need you to say it_ .  
  


“Okay. I’ll get better.” Sophie watched Keefe’s throat muscles tense.  
  


Sophie could already tell where half of his mental train of thought was travelling. She squeezed his hand. The last thing she wanted to do was come off like she didn't like who he was. Or like she was trying to change all of him for her own gain. His Mom had manipulated him into that trap plenty.  
  


“I’m not doing this because I hate you, you know that? I _don’t_ hate you. I don’t hate who you are. It’s just. . . A bad habit, Keefe. It’s unhealthy for both of us. I do _not_ hate _you_. I am not doing this because I want to change who you are or—or—”   
  


Sophie’s words seemed to be failing her. While she bumbled for some way to express what she really meant without it coming off wrong, Keefe dipped his chin.  
  


“I get what you mean, Foster.” Sophie hushed instantly. He mustered a few nods. “You’re not her. I don’t think you’re her. You’re not manipulating me.”  
  


Sophie felt like she could breathe again. She tested it out, exhaling shakily. “You sure you actually feel that way?”  
  


“I’d tell you if something was wrong.” He reached for her hand. “Because I’m getting better now, remember?” His smile was slightly cheeky as he hedged, “We tell each other everything now.”  
  


“Oh, shut up. You know I didn’t mean you had to spill everything to me. You can have privacy, I just don’t enjoy when that privacy turns to secrets and secrets turns to—”  
  


“Me having a sparring match with the ogre king.”  
  


“And getting diced up like a tomato, yes,” Sophie concurred.  
  


“Hey,” Keefe defended, pretending to be mock-hurt. “I didn’t totally suck in that ring! I _won_.”  
  


“You won by grabbing for a shiny thing and tugging. Like a toddler.” Sophie’s brain replayed the image of the king’s blood-spattered earring rolling around in Keefe’s palm.  
  


That time Keefe actually looked wounded. “He never said the blood had to be drawn with the weapon!”  
  


At Keefe’s outburst, Sophie spat out into laughter. Keefe seemed highly unentertained by the fact that she thought his annoyance was hilarious. His dry expression didn’t falter as he muttered, “Seriously, Foster, god, you drive me wild sometimes.”  
  


“I’m sorry,” she choked between giggles.  
  


“You are _not_ sorry,” Keefe said. She would’ve wilted if a smile hadn’t broken his stony face. “You’re smug. Look at you. You’re still laughing.”  
  


“Sorry, sorry,” she gasped, trying her hardest to bring the laughing to an end. But it was difficult when he seemed so edged by her. Sophie blew out a few lazy breaths, calming herself. “Sorry,” she repeated when the fit of laughter finally ceased. That didn’t prevent her face from splitting into a grin, however.  
  


“You’re unbearable.”  
  


“You were kinda being easy to tease,” Sophie defended. Which was true. It was rare that Keefe was ever thrown off his game, but when it _did_ happen Sophie didn’t like to waste the opportunity.  
  


“I was only easy to tease because it’s you who’s doing the teasing. If it were anyone else, I’d be fine.”  
  


Sophie’s eyes widened. Keefe took a second to let the words sink in before he blinked in his own surprise. Sophie knew he tended to say what was on his mind without thinking, but usually it was unnervingly calculated and smooth and guarded. That had been smooth, in a way, sure. But guarded or calculated? Not so much.  
  


He cleared his throat, twisting a hand up and through his hair. His cheeks turned red. “It’s because you don’t tease people. You stick to your Foster shell a lot, so when you do decide to. . . Nevermind.”  
  


The colour of Sophie’s face rivalled a blazing red stoplight. “Oh,” was all she could think of mumbling. She bit the inside of her lip, wishing that for once all the blood in her body wouldn’t rise into her cheeks.   
  


Keefe seemed eager to move the conversation along. He cleared his throat. “You want to see your presents, or?”  
  


Sophie bobbed her head. Maybe looking at the paintings would make her damn blush go down. Or maybe it would make it worse. She supposed she’d just have to take it one step at a time.  
  


Keefe picked up the flat package, handing it over to Sophie. She wasted no time - she tore through the thin paper, peeled it back and gazed at the gift beneath.  
  


She’d already had the gifts in her possession for around a year, but that would never stop her from being awe-struck everytime she set aside the time to look at them - really look at them. She could see every careful, detailed brushstroke. Notice every tiny flower peppered onto Calla’s branches. See the lace of Edaline’s sleeves. Pick out the tiniest flecks of gold he’d littered into her eyes.   
  


“There are runes of the back, too.”  
  


Sophie flipped the paintings over. Both paintings had the same word, written in the Black Swan’s cipher: _Family_.  
  


She felt her throat clenching up. She tried to swallow to clear it out, but that only made the lump grow wider.  
  
  
“Foster?”   
  


Sophie laughed a little, even as her eyes welled up at the enormity of what he’d given her. “Sorry, just. . .” Her sentence dissolved into some sort of weak whimper in the back of her throat. She shrugged, looking up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”  
  


His smile was soft. “Um, you know.” Keefe waved his hand around in a vague gesture before shoving it in his pocket. “You could throw me a little bone and say it’s the best gift you’ve ever received. Or something along that line.”  
  


Sophie couldn’t hold back another laugh. It sounded more garbled and choked than anything, so she attempted to clear her throat. “That doesn’t sound like much of a _little_ bone,” she observed, “but. . . This is pretty good, yeah.” She had to fight to keep her eyes from burning with tears. “Thank you.”  
  


Whatever Keefe said next was drowned out by a buzz in her ears. The buzzing swiftly switched to ringing.  
  


Sophie’s vision grew bleary. She swallowed. Knowing what was happening, she gave one last glance to Keefe before staring at the paintings again. As her sight dimmed, she focused on the warm thrum in her chest and the mental image of the runes scrawled on her gifts.  
  


 _Family_.


	9. Chapter 9

WARM BREATH TICKLED her cheeks and eyelashes. Once the buzz in the back of her skull dulled, Sophie opened her eyes. She braced herself for whatever she was going to find, not expecting to see a pair of blue eyes locked on hers.  
  


Sophie forgot how to breathe. The blue eyes glittered as the person they belonged to smirked. “Are you doing alright, Foster? That’s a lot of fluttering I feel.”  
  


When Sophie remembered that breathing and oxygen were necessary, she sucked in air. It filled her stomach, making her aware of just how many loop-de-loops it was doing, just like Keefe had teased. Electricity crackled through Sophie from her stomach to her lungs.  
  


He was _so close_. Where was she, even?! How did they keep finding themselves in situations like this?  
  


Sophie closed her eyes briefly, needing a touch of clarity to allow herself to think about when this scene was from.  
  


It was sometime after he’d given her the paintings. He’d come over to her house with Ro to. . . Wow. To check up on her, if she was remembering correctly. Yes, that was it. She’d been planning and preparing to storm the second Nightfall in Atlantis when Keefe had arrived at Havenfield, totally unprompted. Just to see how she was holding up.  
  


And somehow, _somehow_ , she’d wound up pinned to the wall by Keefe.   
  


Mr. Forkle had waltzed in not long after, catching the two in the middle of the moment, which for some reason had felt. . . Private. And like it shouldn’t have been cut off so soon.  
  


The stomach fluttering turned to a roller coaster drop.   
  


_Oh, no_.   
  


Mr. Forkle had been there to walk in. And now. . . Now Sophie had only one terrifying thought.  
  


There was no one to interrupt them this time.  
  


Keefe seemed fueled by her unease, growing more and more flirtatious and confident. “Speechless again?” he asked, grinning as he leaned in to whisper, “You know, there’s probably a reason for that.”  
  


A tingle shot up Sophie’s spine. Shit, she’d forgotten about this.   
  


Even though Sophie’s heart was in her throat, she found herself challenging, “Like what?”  
  


Keefe looked like he didn’t expect that response, either, by the way his eyebrows shot up. Slowly, the corners of his mouth crept into a perfect catty smirk. He chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that, Foster.”  
  


His breath tickled her cheek. She couldn’t help but notice that his breath smelled like peppermint from whatever mouth rinse he used at night. Probably tasted like that, too.  
  


Shit.  
  


Sophie’s mind strayed back to her realization in the glass pyramid and the intrusive thoughts she’d conjured. Keefe was even closer, now. . .  
  


“No,” she finally whispered back. “I don’t think I do.”  
  


From the way Keefe’s smirk fell, a dawning look replacing it, Sophie felt the need to hang on to something. Like she’d strapped herself into a rollercoaster without a safety bar.   
  


His eyes seemed steady, but if she looked close, they were almost dilated. She could have sworn she saw him shift his gaze down for a millisecond before he trapped her eyes again. “Don’t think it’s something I can explain too well, Foster. You sure you don’t understand?” His voice had dropped low and steady, hushed like they were in the middle of a sleepover, whispering so they wouldn’t wake anyone else up.  
  


It was. . . a _lot_ to handle.  
  


“I’m sure,” she gulped. “Are _you_ sure you can’t explain it?”  
  


She was going to regret that. She didn’t know when it would hit her like a ton of bricks, but it would eventually. There would be a turning point where she’d want to suck the words back in.  
  


The outcome didn’t look all that bad right about then, though. Anyone with proper vision could see that Keefe’s line of sight had flickered down briefly, again. Sophie licked her lips, swallowing.  
  


“I can’t _explain_ it,” he admitted, “but I can _demonstrate_ it.”  
  


The pit of Sophie’s belly flamed. She wanted to see where this went. Oh, she wanted to see where this went _really_ badly. But, then again, there was always the possibility that she wouldn’t like the destination once she reached it. After all, she was stumbling blindly down a path she couldn’t even _see_. She was tempting fate.  
  


But if tempting fate meant seeing that uncaged look in his eyes, it didn’t sound all that bad. She decided to push her luck further. “Then demonstrate it for me.”  
  


“I don’t think you could handle it.”  
  


“Why not?” Sophie pressed.  
  


Keefe made a soft sound, like a mini laugh. “See? You don’t even know what you’re in for. I mean, that, or you’re playing coy.” His lips tingled with his smirk. His voice dropped an octave, eyes glittering. “Playing coy, Foster?” he practically purred.  
  


She swallowed - hard. Sophie’s shoulders bounced in a timid shrug. “Maybe.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows lifted like he hadn’t expected the answer. Slowly, his peeking smile returned like a gentle breeze in a sail. “Hm,” was all he had to say at first. He leaned in ever so slightly further and that was when Sophie decided she couldn’t breathe. “Well then, beyond that,” he continued, “you’re having trouble talking, as is. And I don’t see how a demonstration would help you talk any better. In fact. . . I think it’d make it worse.”  
  


Even though Keefe leaned back after he said it, she still found it nearly impossible to force herself to take in oxygen again. Sophie’s heart pulsed. “I wouldn’t put too much confidence in that.”  
  


Keefe’s grin broadened, the sparkle in his eyes looking challenging. “Why not?”  
  


“You don’t know you’re good at demonstrations.” She poked a shaking finger into his chest. “ _You’re_ the talker,” - she moved the finger over to her own chest - “ _I’m_ the demonstrator.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow slanted. When a corner of his lip quirked dangerously and he cocked his head to the side, she knew she’d thrown herself off the edge of a cliff.  
  


She had been right: Keefe was the talker. So _she_ shouldn’t be talking. She was making this so, _so_ much worse for herself with every phrase that flew out of her mouth, but. . . She was also making it so, _so_ much better.  
  


Sophie flicked her eyes from side to side to glance at the hands Keefe had propped on the wall; one on each side of her face. Hesitantly, she reached up and wrapped her hands around his wrists, staring him directly in the eyes. Their pupils aligned and Sophie found herself wanting to claw her eyelids closed. But now was not the time to give in to any cowardice.  
  


“You’re the talker,” she repeated, ignoring the way her heart felt like it was going to shoot up her throat. “So. . . Talk. And let me demonstrate.”  
  


Keefe’s pupils seemed larger, somehow, like they’d dilated. Inquisitive and eager, they held some sort of shine. “Okay,” he agreed after a lifetime of silence.  
  


Sophie mustered a few nods. “Okay.” She anxiously licked her lips.   
  


Even though they’d both agreed on taking action, Sophie couldn’t figure out what action she was supposed to take. Keefe looked equally as lost. What was she supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?  
  


Thankfully, she didn’t have to decide because Keefe seemed content with the silence. He was usually one to break it, but clearly neither found it unnatural or awkward. In fact, it was helping to clear Sophie’s head - for the most part.  
  


There would always be some lingering anxiety that she was reading the signs wrong, even when they seemed clear and prominent.  
  


It’d cost her a lot, if she was reading it wrong this time. Keefe probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her when she woke up - and Sophie wouldn’t blame him.  
  


It’d make her selfish, too, if she was reading the situation wrong. Not everyone she knew had to be infatuated with her. Keefe could just be being. . . friendly. Really, really friendly.  
  


That wouldn’t be _totally_ out of the box. She’d been really friendly with Keefe for the last how long in his head. She’d been latching onto him any chance she got. This could just be another way of him displaying the trust he had with her and how comfortable he was around her.  
  


By some miracle, Sophie blushed brighter. What had she been thinking? _Demonstrating_? Really? She couldn’t put Keefe through some sort of uncalled-for test like she had with Dex. She wasn’t going to do that, she decided: not unless she knew it was a good option.  
  


Then again, Keefe didn’t look backhanded or confused by anything she’d done. The slight glaze over his eyes looked natural, even. Calm. It reminded her of the frosted ice that covered a lake. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t dazed. He was thinking clearly. He knew what he was walking into.  
  


Sophie’s heart fluttered.  
  


“Alright, there, Foster?” His voice still had the sleepover quality attached to it, coming out soft and breathy.  
  


Sophie couldn’t talk, her voice too squeaky to resonate. She settled for a weak nod.  
  


Keefe’s smile was delicate. “Obviously.” Even his teasing sounded mild. His smile dripped away lazily as he maintained eye contact. “Need some help?”  
  


All the blood was rushing to her head. She couldn’t function when he was talking to her so damn sweetly and watching her with the same intensity. “Kind of,” she admitted.  
  


“Don’t know how to get started?”  
  


The hands she had grasped around his wrists tingled. “Yeah.”  
  


“Me neither.” His eyes flickered down briefly for what felt like the millionth time and Sophie felt like she was soaring when she figured out what he was looking at. “Wanna figure it out together?”  
  


Sophie nearly sucked in a startled breath. “Like, what, a countdown? A really long conversation? A trust exercise?” She stopped herself from babbling when Keefe suggested, “Countdown?”  
  


It felt like she was trying to chug a bucket of ice when she swallowed. A countdown was definitely something she couldn’t escape. “Okay. To, erm, seven?”  
  


Keefe bobbed his head. “Seven,” he agreed.  
  


Sophie really _, really_ hoped she knew what she was doing. If she was miraculously reading his body language wrong or not piecing together his words in the right way. . . Then this was going to hurt. A lot.  
  


Keefe tapped a finger on the wall. The beat drummed next to her ear. At first, she didn’t understand why, but a second later, he tapped again.  
  


He was counting down the seconds.  
  


_Three.  
  
_

She had to remind herself to breathe when he made eye contact.  
  


 _Four_.  
  


She swore they were getting closer. He was moving closer and maybe, just maybe, she was leaning in, too.  
  


_Five.  
  
_

It wasn’t just her imagination, they were _definitely_ getting closer. She could probably tap her nose against his if she tried.  
  


 _Six_.  
  


Sophie angled her face so their noses didn’t bump. Keefe mirrored her.  
  


 _Seven_.  
  


Eyes fluttered shut. Breathing harshened. The hands on his wrists shook. She could feel-  
  


_Sophie?  
  
_

Sophie jumped. She dug her nails into Keefe’s wrists without thinking, retracting her hands quick as lightning when he hissed and swore. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t - Fitz transmitted!” She reached for his wrists, cradling them in front of her. “I’m sorry.”  
  


Shockingly, Keefe found it in him to laugh through his gentle wince. “It’s fine, Foster.”  
  


“It’s not fine,” she insisted, “I grabbed you.”  
  


_Sophie?  
  
_

At Sophie’s overexaggerated grumble, Keefe suggested, “You should probably answer him.”   
  


“He can wait a few seconds. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”  
  


“I’m _fine_ , Foster. You didn’t even make any marks.” He flashed a crooked smile and a tiny shrug. “You just scared me.”  
  


Even if that made her feel a tinsy bit better, it didn't prevent the embarrassment flushing through her body. She muttered a rather huffy, “Still.”  
  


Keefe stepped back with one foot. Despite the space between them only expanding by a cluster of inches, it had Sophie’s heart deflating. She was almost tempted to give him one last sorry before she had to reply to Fitz, but she chickened out, afraid it would make everything worse. Or more awkward. But she was fairly sure they’d already reached the pinnacle of awkward because she could have sworn she’d just about. . . He’d just about. . . They’d nearly. . .  
  


Sophie closed her eyes and poured her focus into rallying her concentration. _Here_ , was all she mumbled.  
  


Fitz’s mental voice jumped like he was startled to hear her respond. _Are you alright?_ Fitz asked. _I haven’t been able to reach you! Mr. Forkle tried, too. It’s been awhile.  
  
_

 _I’m good_ , Sophie promised. _We’re both doing good_.  
  


She could imagine Fitz’s thick eyebrows puckering. _Are you sure? You don’t sound like it.  
  
_

She wished she could clear her mental voice. But no matter what she tried there was still some shake to it as she assured, _Yeah._ When Fitz remained silent she guessed it was best to hop to a different subject. _How’s Keefe doing?  
  
_

Fitz seemed hesitant to give in to it so quickly, as if he knew she was trying to diverge his attention. Finally, he surrendered, _Keefe seems okay. There hasn’t been much of a change in his vitals — or yours, for that matter. But both your heart rates, like, skyrocketed_ .  
  


Sophie didn’t doubt that one bit. Her blush went supernova. It didn’t help when she thought about the fact that Keefe was probably watching her, right there behind her closed eyelids. And he was feeling everything she experienced.  
  


_Um, yeah_ , she stumbled. _Sorry. I’m fine, his mind is just pretty. . . Unpredictable sometimes_.   
  


Understatement of the century. She was never going to get over this encounter. It didn’t matter if it was technically fiction because she was in his head _—_ Keefe had just. . . Done _that_ . And _she_ had just done all that, too. She hadn’t even known a game had begun, yet she’d played her cards right into it.  
  


_Did something happen?  
  
_

_Not specifically, no_ , she answered. _His memories are just. . . intense_.  
  


Fitz made some sort of snort sound. _Yeah, I get what you mean. Now you know what it’s like for me to be inside your head_ . The statement was light - almost teasing - and she didn’t know how to throw similar energy back when she was so shaken.  
  


 _Photographic memories do tend to do that_ . She tensed when Keefe cleared his throat in front of her. _Can you, uh, send me another boost? Or can you get Mr. Forkle to, if you’re too tired? I’m kind of beginning to feel drained again and I think it might help.  
  
_

 _Sure_ , Fitz contended. _Hang on a second_.  
  


 _Thanks_.   
  


Sophie counted the seconds until she felt the boost pooling in her mind, glossing over every sharpened edge. She exhaled, letting the strength run from her head to her toes, waiting until after the feeling faded to open her eyes again.   
  


Sophie forced herself to look at Keefe. She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she announced, drawing Keefe’s attention, “Fitz wanted to check in to see how I was doing.” It took all her willpower not to rip out a few eyelashes. “How’re your wrists doing? Sorry, again.”  
  


“It’s okay,” he promised. A half-grin tilted made his mouth slant. “Just remind me to never go near you when you’re transmitting.”  
  


“I wasn’t the one transmitting; _he_ scared me,” she protested.  
  


“Then I’ll make a mental note to warn Fitzy not to pop into your head at random times. Especially not when anyone’s in a five-foot radius of you.”  
  


Sophie’s blush burned her cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”  
  


“It’s called teasing, Foster. We all need some of it here and there.”  
  


“Sure.” Yet, this teasing felt. . . Forced. Unnatural. Like he was shoving it out there because he didn’t know what else he could do, but shoving it out there _also_ felt like a bad idea because teasing seemed too lighthearted, but if he didn’t throw out a joke then it would make him appear off of his rhythm. . .  
  


Or Sophie was reading too much into it and revving herself up for nothing. But there was a noticeable amount of space between the two of them that he must have put while she was transmitting with Fitz. And even though Keefe could feel the anxiety wafting off from Sophie, he didn’t bring it up.  
  


Keefe rubbed the back of his neck. “I think, uh. I should go. We should be getting ready.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.  
  


Sophie’s throat constricted. “Yeah, we should,” she forced out. She didn’t like how this seemed all too much like a goodbye. And an awkward, rough one at that.  
  


What if she’d messed things up again? She supposed it could have gone worse - she could have actually gone through with it. But now. . . Now it seemed like there was a wall between them. And she didn’t want to have to take the time to tear down every little brick. Mostly she didn’t want to live with the fact that she’d put the bricks there in the first place.  
  


And over what, anyway? What had she been hoping to gain by doing that?  
  


Keefe pulled a leaping crystal out of his pocket. “I’ll catch you later, Foster.” She was surprised that he shamelessly locked onto her gaze when he said it.  
  


She bit her lip. Sophie crossed her arms over herself, dipping her chin in acknowledgment. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll, um, keep you updated.”  
  


A hint of Keefe’s smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “Appreciated.” It faded as he promptly swept his eyes over her one last time. “See you later.”  
  


“See you later,” she agreed, voice tighter than the grip she had around her torso.   
  


Keefe shoved his hand in the pocket of his cape, shuffling around until he pulled out a leaping crystal. She watched him hold it up the light and create a path on her floor. A path that would take him away from her. Even though she knew it wasn’t real life and this wasn’t a break they were taking from one another, it seemed too real. And it scared her.  
  


Keefe contemplated stepping into the path he’d create a few times, but everytime he reached his foot out, he’d retract it after a second. Finally, he looked up at her again. “Please try to get some rest or something. And eat food. And drink water. I’m serious.” He waited until she nodded to say, “Take care of yourself, Foster.”  
  


“You, too.”  
  


“We’re going to find them.”  
  


She needed a minute to realize he was referring to her human parents. “Alright.”  
  


The last thing he did was dip his chin at her, giving the world’s most tender smile before he stepped into the light. As soon as the light faded with Keefe, the rest of the world went with him, blackening at the snap of a finger.


	10. Chapter 10

“MORNING, FOSTER.”  
  


Sophie stirred at the voice. She instantly groaned at the movement - her back and shoulders stung like she was being pricked with pins and needles. Wherever she was, she must have been resting in the same position for too long.  
  


Sophie blinked her bleary eyes, waiting for her corneas to adjust to the bright white light that lasered past her lids and lashes. She went to lift a hand to shield her eyes, which was when she noticed that her arm was bound.  
  


Panic shot through her and when her vision returned, she found herself staring at a bandage cocoon.  
  


At least that explained why she couldn’t move her arm. But that didn’t explain why her arm was wrapped in the first place.  
  


“I see someone’s finally been getting that beauty rest they deserve.”  
  


Sophie looked to Keefe for a clue, but her eyes raked across the medical cots in the process and the pure white walls and _oh_ , she was in the Healing Center. This was when she and Fitz needed to be treated and monitored for their echoes. _That’s_ why her arm was bound.  
  


“What time is it?” Sophie croaked groggily, scooching to sit herself up farther in bed. Her arm was limp and as heavy as an anvil, not allowing her to move barely an inch. She’d forgotten how annoying it had been to live with it. Sophie glared at it.  
  


Keefe was sitting on a stool a few feet away from her bed. On one of his legs he had propped a sketchbook and in his hand he had fiddled a silver pencil. Keefe moved off the stool, setting the items aside so that he could make his way over to her.  
  


“Eh, around one or two.”  
  


“ _One or two_?” Sophie repeated. “In the afternoon?”  
  


Keefe laughed. “I told you, you’ve been getting some serious beauty rest.”  
  


“Apparently.” Sophie flopped back against the pillows, eliciting a chuckle from Keefe. Sophie caught Keefe picking up a medical bag in her peripheral vision, from the cot next to hers, and her eyebrows scrunched up.  
  


“Alright, time to change that bandage, huh?” Keefe turned back around with two handfuls of supplies.  
  


Sophie’s brows flung up. “What?” she blurted.  
  


“Your cast,” Keefe answered, like it was nothing new.  
  


Sophie lifted her head off the pillows propped against her headboard. “But. . . Elwin isn’t here.” And she for _certain_ hadn’t had her bandage changed by Keefe in the past. She’d known the dreams tended to go a little off-script, but she’d never expected them to make up something of that accord.  
  


Maybe it had been a want of his, at the time? Keefe had been overly eager to be helpful during her recovery period, so she guessed the circumstance was a reflection of that previous want.  
  


Keefe laughed. “That never stopped us from doing stuff before. Besides, it’s okay. I can feel if I push too much on you and then I’ll know if I need to stop.”  
  


He fanned out his palm and wiggled his fingers for her, indicating their bond and the unexplainable way he could feel her pain.  
  


Sophie reluctantly bobbed her head. She didn’t mind having him change her cast too much, but after being so close just moments before. . .  
  


Once Sophie had given Keefe the all-clear he crawled onto the side of her cot, nestling himself so that one leg hung off the side and he didn’t invade too much of her space. Still, no amount of distance put between them would shield her from the feeling of suffocation. When did she become one of those people who freaked out if a boy got close?  
  


She mentally winced. Actually, she didn’t have to think very hard to figure out when that happened.  
  


Keefe began to lay out the pots of balm and a roll of dressing beside him on the mattress. He moved a pillow to place over his knee, having Sophie prop her arm on it.   
  


Sophie grimaced, waiting for shooting pain as he helped maneuver her arm onto the pillow, but the only thing that she experienced was a type of weakness. She couldn’t move her injured arm as well as her left one, but she would deal with it. It was better than stabbing pain. (Sophie sent a thank you to Keefe’s dream universe for not documenting that detail.)  
  


“Krakie been taking care of you?” Keefe asked, pointing to the prattles pin with a grin.  
  


Sophie’s eyes drifted to the shiny-eyed animal, a smile cracking her face.   
  


How had she forgotten about that? It baffled her, considering Keefe had brought her not one, but an entire supply of prattles when she’d been on bedrest. _And_ with every pin received, he attached it to her cast, giving each individual animal some absurd name.  
  


Sophie nodded, confirming, “Yeah, he’s been pretty good,” while she watched his fingers begin to undo the pins from her cast. Despite Sophie feeling a little squeamish with having Keefe so near, it went fairly smooth. He seemed to notice her unease, so he began to do little things clearly meant to distract her: such as naming each animal off as he removed the pin, making Sophie roll her eyes and shake her head while she fought her smile.  
  


Keefe knew it was working to lessen her sour mood, so he made an even larger effort to crack dumb jokes and horrible puns which had Sophie cringing to mask her giggles.   
  


Keefe somehow managed to scoot in closer, over time. Sophie watched in anticipation as their thighs brushed and all of her focus zoned into that point of contact. Her entire world revolved around it.   
  


Her heart pattered and Sophie’s cheeks became molten.  
  


After being so close to him only minutes before, back pressed against a wall, she felt obligated to scoot back and put a respective amount of distance between them. But she stayed where she was. She wondered if it was bad that she wanted to stay so near. In some small way. . . she liked the thrill of it.  
  


Keefe had arranged the jaculus (which he dubbed Bitey) and the T-Rex (he tagged that one Fluffy) on the side of the bed so that it looked like Fluffy was picking up Bitey with his tiny arms when Sophie decided to break the silence.  
  


“Seriously, did Elwin say you’re allowed to do this?”  
  


Keefe plucked the last pin off of Sophie’s cast after she asked him the question. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised in a very unamused look. “You really think I’d risk damaging your recovery so I could. . . What, sneak a peek at your cocooned _arm_?”  
  


Sophie didn’t know why, but the expression on his face and the dead tone of his voice made her laugh. “No! It’s just. . . You’re _Keefe_ , okay? You don’t always make sense.”  
  


Keefe clicked his tongue, starting to work on delacing her bandages. “I must say: you make a very valid argument.”  
  


Sophie watched as he twirled them around and around her arm, the vise-like death grip loosening. With every unwound piece of dressing, the coil around Sophie’s heart cinched tighter. When the mounting pressure became too much, her heart shot up into her throat faster than a soap bar slipping from someone’s hands.  
  


“Wait, Keefe—”  
  


He paused. “Yeah?”  
  


She blushed. “Maybe. . . You shouldn’t take it off.”  
  


Having him see her arm all broken and bloody and full of puss the _first_ time had been mortifying enough and Sophie wasn’t so sure she wanted to relive that again. It was hard for herself to see the ugly sight — she didn’t want to imagine what reaction Keefe would have, getting up close and personal with changing her cast.  
  


Keefe must have felt the drowning embarrassment wafting from her because his face turned soft. “It’s okay, Foster,” he soothed, “I’ve seen it once before. And the swelling’s really gone down. I don’t mind.”  
  


“Yeah, but—”  
  


“I don’t care if your arm isn’t pretty, Sophie. You’re not going to repulse me or drive me away. I want to help,” he consoled. Sophie seemed heavily unconvinced, so he added, “All I care about is that you get better, okay? You don’t have to be embarrassed.”  
  


Sophie begged to differ. There was a novel’s worth list of reasons that she could and _should_ be embarrassed. But Keefe seemed so unbothered and he gazed at her with such an earnest expression that Sophie caved.  
  


After mumbling a weak, “Okay,” Keefe nodded and removed the last of the bandages. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for some gasp or sound of disgust from Keefe. When it didn’t come, she fluttered her eyes open warily. The only difference in Keefe’s face was the slightest hint of a frown as he observed her arm. Besides that, she didn’t catch horror or revolt like Sophie had anticipated.  
  


She risked her first peek at her arm. Sophie sucked in air between her teeth.  
  


Keefe piled the old bandages on his lap. “It’s bruised, I’ll tell you that.”  
  


Sophie grimaced.   
  


Keefe was right; her _entire arm_ was a bruise. The red, blue, and purple covering her skin made it look like a queasy jam concoction. And not only that, but the colouring wasn’t even consistent, splotches fading into one another like a bad watercolour painting of a blackberry bush.   
  


Keefe laughed when he caught her scrunched nose. “Don’t make that face. It’s your arm.”  
  


“Doesn’t look like my arm.”  
  


“Well, it _is_.” Keefe smiled at her, cocking his head a little. He leaned forward to nudge her thigh with his elbow. “Show your arm some love. You’re being too hard on it.”  
  


“It’s not _my_ fault.” She scrunched up her nose, blipping out her tongue for a second. “It’s being ugly.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes shot open before he exploded into laughter. His eyes shone as he repeated something close to, “being ugly” in an amused mutter. He shook his head. “Wow,” he murmured, “you’re so mean to yourself.”  
  


Keefe gently slipped his hand underneath hers, palms connecting as he curled his thumb to brush it over the top of her hand. The tender touch itself would have been enough to get butterflies swimming in her stomach, but Keefe took it a step further. Before she had the time to react, he lifted her hand off the pillow.  
  


Sophie gasped gently. In spite of it being a slow movement, it felt odd being able to feel her limp arm lift into the air.  
  


Keefe brought her hand halfway to his face, bending down to close the remaining distance.  
  


Sophie couldn’t really call what he planted on her hand to be a kiss — Keefe hadn’t puckered his mouth or really used it in any way. But he’d still nuzzled her hand against his face, lips brushing against her bruised knuckles.  
  


A tingle shot up Sophie’s spine. She watched his eyes flutter closed, feeling his warm, breathy exhales sensitive on her skin.  
  


Keefe leaned back. Disappointment flooded through Sophie for a brief moment when cool air replaced the warmth of his mouth. Thankfully he swiftly replaced it with the tip of his thumb again, swirling it over her knuckles in a caress.  
  


Sophie blushed wildly. The act was so tender yet casual that strangers would have sworn Sophie and Keefe shared touches like that everyday, from a glance.  
  


Keefe didn’t appear to sense how flustered Sophie had become until he flickered his eyes upwards and met himself with her burning cheeks. Surprise dawned on his features. He turned a little pink.  
  


Keefe cleared his throat. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t move your arm like that.” Keefe lowered it softer than a feather to lay back on the pillow.  
  


Sophie shook her head, ignoring the way her face was in flames. “It didn’t hurt, you went slow. See?”   
  


Sophie demonstrated, squeezing his hand. She could feel the effects of the dream, holding her back from squeezing as tight as her normal hand could. It prevented her from moving too fast, as well, but nonetheless it was still possible.   
  


Keefe still looked skeptical, so when she released her grip, Sophie took it a step further and wiggled her fingers.  
  


“Oookay,” Keefe said, halting her motions. “I get it. We should probably stop before you hurt yourself. I’d like it if Elwin kept trusting me with things like this, but that’s not gonna happen if we push our luck.”  
  


Sophie smiled. “True.”  
  


Keefe returned the smile before he snatched the pot of medicine settled on the mattress beside him. Keefe unscrewed the cap, revealing mint green balm. It smelled uncannily similar to cotton candy, which had Sophie raising an eyebrow.  
  


Keefe dipped two steepled fingers into it before pausing. His eyebrows lifted and he peeked at her, tilting the pot in her direction. “Oh, guess I should ask before I do this. Do you mind? You can do it. I don’t have to, if you don’t want me to.”  
  


“Um,” Sophie started. She shrugged, cheeks flaming as she stretched her good hand forward. She dipped her own set of fingers into the paste, reaching to spread it on her bicep. “I don’t care. You can help.”  
  


Keefe ducked his chin and started to work on smearing the cold salve over her hand. Sophie registered after a few of his strokes across her knuckles that he was barely skimming over her skin. While she appreciated that he was handling her with a lot of care, she _did_ wish she could point out that she didn’t actually feel any of the pain anymore. But she let him do his thing.   
  


Sophie concentrated on her own section of her arm, applying even amounts until she reached her elbow. Keefe reached the same spot not long later and when her arm was covered, he pulled back. Keefe nodded at it and looked at her to silently ask if she thought it was good.  
  


Sophie nodded at his tilted head and he smiled. After wiping off any remaining balm from his hands with a rag, he handed it to Sophie and began unrolling new bandages. “Are you gonna want help with some of your makeup work, too? Forkle said it might be a good idea to drop off a bit here. I could help you with it.”  
  


It was a struggle in and of itself for Sophie to properly clean off her hand and fingers when she only had the one hand accessible, but she was barely focusing on the task, anyway, too distracted by keeping her gaze locked on the gauze.  
  


“I. . . Think I can handle it,” Sophie mumbled, distant. Her heart sped up, vision growing hazy. Her palms sweat against her own will and her throat constricted like a snake.  
  


Keefe quirked an eyebrow, still fiddling with the roll. “Well, _I_ think I might hang around just in case.” His mouth had curved into a crooked grin when he turned back to her. It dripped away when he spotted her wide-eyed line of sight locked onto the bandages. Keefe appeared to register her fear, too, a dawning look skittering over his features.  
  


“Whoa,” he said. “What’s wrong?”  
  


“Nothing,” Sophie lied, ripping her eyes away.  
  


“It’s _something_ , obviously.”  
  


Sophie’s head shook furiously. “Nope.”  
  


“Uh, _yep_ ,” Keefe prodded. “Foster, fear is freaking _radiating_ off of you.”  
  


Her head shook with violence again. Her face had begun to turn red. Sophie insisted, “It’s stupid.” She tugged out an eyelash.  
  


Keefe’s lips pursed in a frown. He allowed her a ten-second breather before leniently persisting, “Foster.”  
  


She released a breath she’d been holding.  
  


Sophie knew it was beyond silly, but the idea of having to imprison her arm again. . . Made her more-than jittery.   
  


Once again, she was thrust back into that memory: She was trapped in bed, immobile, her arm and knuckles fractured. Her head swam with echoes, infected with monsters. Her chances of recovery had felt hopeless. She’d swore she would never get out of that bed. Out of that cast.   
  


There were days when she made zero progress. Days when her recovery had even managed to set itself _back_. There were days when Sophie could almost guarantee she’d never be able to use her arm again.  
  


And now she was thrust back into that ditch. That _cave_.   
  


And the light was gone.  
  


Sophie fidgeted anxiously with the bedsheet. “It makes me nervous, I guess,” she rasped. “I feel like once I put the cast back on it’s never going to come off.” The lump blocking Sophie’s airway felt as unbreakable as a rock.  
  


Keefe’s face melted into something tender. Sophie knew he didn’t intend it to come off looking pitiful, but Sophie’s brain took it that way, regardless. She tried to shrug, but because of her arm, only one shoulder levitated. It came out looking more awkward than Sophie would have preferred, especially when you inspected the way her shoulder shook.  
  


So much for playing it cool.  
  


Keefe's lips puckered into a purse. Gradually, his gaze scanned the room. Abruptly, he stood from the bed. “Here. Hang on. I think I’ve got something.”  
  


Sophie’s eyes followed Keefe as he strolled over to a bag on the floor. Keefe picked it up, accidentally disturbing Bullhorn who was lying nearby. Keefe recoiled and hushed him, whispering his apologies.  
  


The boy glanced back to Sophie.  
  


Seeing her confusion, he explained, “I brought along a little bag full of things in case you got bored. Stress ball, little mind puzzle, ehh, you know, just things to pass the time.” Keefe shuffled around in it, making quite a few clinking sounds, before he exclaimed in victory, pulling out a mini bottle full of teal liquid.  
  


Sophie’s eyebrow crease sunk deeper. “. . .Is that nail polish?”  
  


“It is, indeed,” Keefe established. He discarded the bag to its original spot before making his way back to the cot again. The side of the mattress dipped in with his weight when he took a seat.  
  


“So, tell you what,” Keefe proposed, holding up the teal vial. “Let’s play a little game with this. I’m going to paint the fingernails on your left hand.” He tapped a finger on the top of her healthy hand, then moved to hover over her injured one. “But I’m going to leave your right hand alone for now. The moment that you’re all healed and out of that cast, I’ll finish the second hand for you. Then you’ll be able to see two painted hands. Not just one.” He gave a sweet, lop-sided smile. “And since you’ll be in all good health, I can tell you I told you so.”  
  


One eyebrow levitated on her forehead. “Tell me ‘I told you so’ for what?”  
  


“For this.” Keefe placed his palm delicately over Sophie’s bruised one, holding her eyes. “You’re going to get better. You’re going to get out of this cast. It _is_ going to come off again.”  
  


Sophie’s eyes stung from the words. “Oh,” she mumbled.  
  


Keefe laughed gently. “Oh?”  
  


“I. . .” Sophie blinked back the tears that threatened to release. Why was she all in her emotions today?   
  


“Okay,” she corrected. Sophie was nodding. “I like that idea.” Her voice was fragile, but her face and eyes were strong.  
  


Keefe checked in with her once more to ensure that she was really okay with it before he dove in. Sophie sat as still as she could when he placed her hand on his knee and began brushing.   
  


He painted diligently, focused. He made sure they were clean, wiping away any excess paint that managed to make its way off of Sophie’s nails.   
  


Keefe’s brow stayed scrunched all throughout it. He squinted at her hands, making Sophie want to tease him and ask if he needed a microscope. (She decided against it when she realized that he A) probably wouldn’t understand what a microscope was and B) would stop making the face.)  
  


And under no circumstance did she want him to stop making whatever expression Keefe had pressed on his face.  
  


He switched between sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth in concentration to chewing on his lower lip. His eyes remained narrowed to ensure accuracy. Every single stroke was precise.  
  


But with every second that ticked away, Sophie’s brain grew fuzzier and fuzzier. By the time they got to the final coating, Sophie was nearly asleep. Leaning back against the pillows had the room swirling. Her eyelids grew heavier with every laboured blink.  
  


Keefe looked up at her briefly. His lips tinged with a small smile. “It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ll finish this up for you.”  
  


Sophie smiled at him. While he returned the smile, she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d actually gotten out, “thank you”, or not, like she had wanted to.  
  
  
But it didn't matter. She was asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

SOPHIE’S BODY ACHED. It wasn’t pain she was feeling, she knew, because Sophie hadn’t been able to feel pain in the dream. However, this bone-weary ache still left her with a powerful burning sensation that weighed her chest. On top of that, every part of her body was on fire, licked with the heat of fifty suns.   
  


Her back slick with sweat, Sophie forced her eyes open, practically panting.  
  


Sophie found she was lying in her canopied bed, swamped in blankets and duvet covers and every quilt imaginable to man. No wonder she was flaring up.   
  


Sophie tried to lean forward to prop herself up, but an invisible barbed wire wrapped around her chest forced her back. Sophie collapsed back against her pillow with a gasp. Searing pressure on the upper half of her body knocked the wind out of her, leaving her dizzy, vision prickled with stars as her hair became a halo on her pillow.  
  


All Sophie could do was lie there and wait for the pounding in her skull to retreat and the stars to fade away before she learned how to breathe properly again. When her vision was no longer hazy, she tried to make sense of where she was, where Keefe was, and what was happening.  
  


Given that she couldn’t maneuver herself in any manner without suffering consequences, her search was left dry. The only thing she could manage to look at without having her eyes roll back in her head were the lights dangling from her ceiling.  
  


Judging by how she felt like there was a wooly mammoth sitting on her chest, Sophie knew this had to be after her second limbium reset. Keefe had been there when she’d woken up, so he was probably sitting over at her desk. Maybe he could help her sit up.  
  


Sophie took a deep breath and squeaked out, “Keefe?”  
  


There was a tiny shuffle of paper and the clatter of a pencil. “Hey, Foster, you’re awake. Hi.” Keefe’s voice sounded so high and relieved that it made Sophie flush with a touch of embarrassment. She’d known Keefe had been worried for her during her unconscious time, but being in the dream his mind had produced made it feel so much more intense - like she was wading in the emotional centre of his brain. Which, maybe she technically was. She’d never really clarified with Mr. Forkle where all his dreams were stemming from.  
  


Feet padded over to her, crushing flowers on her carpet. Keefe came into view above her.   
  


Keefe’s eyes weren’t bloodshot, but they were weary, underlined with purple bruises. She’d known Keefe hadn’t gotten much sleep during the time she’d been unconscious, but it still managed to punch her in the gut over how beat-up he looked. And the fact that he was beat-up over _her_ . . .  
  


“Here, let me help you sit up.” Keefe mussed his dishevelled hair quickly before bending over.  
  


Sophie held her breath as Keefe slipped his hands under her armpits, using the leverage to pull her up and prop her against the headboard.  
  


“Thanks,” Sophie said, appreciative that he’d helped her even though she hadn’t asked.  
  


“Are you feeling alright? You want me to go get Grady and Edaline?”  
  


“Not just yet,” Sophie said, shaking her head. She reached out her hand when Keefe had already halfway turned away from her, expecting for her to say yes. Keefe spotted it, blinked, and then looked back up at her face.  
  


Sophie retracted her hand, seeing he wasn’t going to take it. She settled with patting the edge of the bed beside her. “How long have I been out?”  
  


Keefe raised an eyebrow, staring at the spot she’d patted. “Uhh, I thought you said no stinky boys on the bed.” He noticeably avoided answering her question, though Sophie already knew the answer to it.  
  


Sophie actually cracked a smile. “I can make an exception. I’m not smelling too sweet myself, right now, so.” She shrugged. It was the truth. Sophie was unquestionably embarrassed about it, but the room was an _oven_ and it wasn’t like she had it in her to get up and take a shower by herself. She’d also been unconscious for a few days, which didn’t help anything.  
  


Keefe reddened, but sat down beside her anyways. “I’ll take a shower after this,” he promised. Sophie mumbled her agreement.  
  


Sophie tried to scooch over to allow Keefe more room when he settled onto the bedside. She only ended up wincing and getting scolded softly by Keefe.   
  


Eventually, they settled. Sophie piped up, “What happened while I was out?”  
  


Keefe whistled. “Oh, you know. Elwin and Livvy made it all hot and stuffy in here because it was supposed to be good for your recovery or whatever, so we all get to be a part of the Gross and Sweaty gang.” Keefe tugged on the front of his thin shirt, clearly trying to air it out. Sophie wished she could do the same. The sweat trickling down her spine made her want to wriggle.  
  


“Uh, some Team Valliant stuff happened that I wasn’t allowed to get in on. Believe me, I tried. Wylie looked like he wanted to strangle me.”  
  


Sophie couldn’t restrain her laugh, regretting it the moment her muscles contracted and screamed at her. It wasn’t painful, per se, but it didn’t feel _good_. “What’d you do that for?”  
  


“Uh, you. Duh.” He smiled and shrugged. “Figured I could try to give you something when you woke up, you know? I know you hate sleeping through stuff.”  
  


She did. It made her feel ten steps behind. And _way_ out of the loop.  
  


Sophie had been about to open her mouth to thank him when he appended, “You got a lot of visitors — and they all braved the hotter-than-my-face room temperature, which shows you how much people love you.” Keefe snickered when Sophie rolled her eyes at his face comment. “Everybody barely left your side. Like, at all. Stina was here a lot, too, when she wasn’t pulled away with everyone else for Team Valliant business. And Fitz watched over you a ton. Had to force him to leave to eat and stuff.”  
  


Sophie hadn’t heard that before. It made her chest squash. “Really?”  
  


Keefe didn’t seem to notice the croak she made. “Yeah,” Keefe confirmed, looking a little stiff. He would have been wringing his sleeves or tearing a hand through his hair if Sophie and him weren’t holding hands. “The only reason he’s gone right now is because my dad wanted him to come over for their memory searching session — _yayyyy_ , am I right?”   
  


Nothing could rival his faux enthusiasm.   
  


Except maybe his sulking.   
  


He seemed to sink into it when he elaborated, “Fitz and I both agree it’s a waste of time, but. It’s my dad. He always gets what he wants.” Keefe’s voice was gloomy by the last sentence.  
  


Sophie frowned. “Sorry.”  
  


Keefe sighed. “You don’t gotta be sorry, Foster. We all know my dad is a serious let-down. That’s old news. Right now we need to focus on the _new_ news. Like you.” He gripped her hand a little tighter, making sure to hold her eyes as he checked up. “How you feeling?”  
  


Sophie made something close to a huff and a chuckle. “Besides like I’m being compressed and baked?”  
  


The corners of Keefe’s mouth arched up. “Touché.” The whisper of a grin faded. “Seriously, do you want me to go get Elwin and Livvy? Or Grady and Edaline? They can turn down the heat in here, now that you’re up. Or get you some pain meds.”  
  


“Not yet. I’m fine, I’ll see them later. Right now. . .” Sophie trailed off, unsure of how she wanted to end her own sentence.  
  


Keefe didn’t press her further. He gave one nod, displaying that he understood and that was it. Sophie could’ve sworn she saw a hint of a smile toying with his lips when she didn’t release his hand.  
  


At least _something_ had made him a little happy. (And she was beyond glad it had come from her.)  
  


“Have you made any progress with your memories?” Sophie implored. She tilted her head towards her desk across the room, which Keefe had been sitting at when she’d awoken. “I saw you were drawing over there.”  
  


“Sketches,” Keefe corrected. “And no. My brain has been _annoyingly_ silent.”  
  


He made sure ‘annoyingly’ was laboriously pronounced.  
  


“Then I guess it’s lucky for you that I’m awake. In case you don’t remember, I’m a telepath.” Sophie reached up and tapped a finger over her temple.  
  


“We already tried that. As much as I enjoy your fancy little mind tricks, Foster, they. . . Don’t seem to help. Not with this.”  
  


“Maybe we haven’t tried enough,” Sophie pressed, wishing that Keefe wouldn’t be so surly about the idea of experimenting with the idea. “You know it never hurts to try, Keefe.”  
  


Keefe’s exhale sounded more like an exhausted moan. Which was why he surprised her when he agreed. “You really need to stop making valid points.”  
  


Sophie giggled. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Someone needs to be the brains in this relationship.” Sophie’s grin faded, becoming serious. “And I _really_ don’t want you to take any fathomlethes anymore. Those are unpredictable and they give you nightmares. . . I’d like it if you came to me, is all I’m saying. I don’t need a _promise_ , but. . .”  
  


Keefe’s head bop looked hesitant. “I get it. You have a lot going on, is all. I don’t want to waste your time.” His Adam’s apple popped out as he swallowed.  
  


“You’re never _wasting my time_ , Keefe,” Sophie assured. “We’re a team. But we aren’t going to get anywhere if you stay quiet and keep things from me because you think I’m going to turn you away.”  
  


“I know, I know, I just. . . Have a feeling you’re going to get sick of me if I bring too much to you.”  
  


Sophie’s face softened. “Keefe,” she said gently, tilting her head to get a better view of his eyes. “You’re not a burden. And you help me all the time! You’re helping me right now, with my biological parents. And are you sick of me?”  
  


She really hoped that answer was no. With every second that lagged by and Keefe remained silent, Sophie regretted making the connection more and more.   
  


But then Keefe’s blond head shook with conviction. “I’d never be sick of you.”  
  


“And I’d never be sick of _you_.” Sophie waited until he looked at her to finish, “Come to me. Please. I don’t care if it’s you needing help or you wanting to go to the Forbidden Cities at 3 a.m to try human snacks.”  
  


Keefe’s mouth twitched into a side-lopped grin. Sophie smiled right back when he decided, “Deal.”  
  


“Great.” Now he just had to not break the deal. She wouldn’t put it past him.  
  


Keefe tended to be reclusive when it came to his problems. While Sophie could understand him wanting privacy, it wasn’t just privacy Keefe was concerned with — he had the idea wedged into his mind that people felt repulsed or stressed whenever he revealed any struggles with them. Which was almost always the exact opposite of what she felt whenever Keefe told her about something that was bugging him. He didn’t do it often (if at all), but on the rare occurrence that he did, Sophie had always felt washed with relief. That meant he trusted her with something big. That meant she wasn’t being kept in the dark and could actually _help_.  
  


Sophie almost wondered if Keefe had always been distant or if it had been something to do with her arrival. Keefe had been close with Fitz since they were young — though she noticed a huge decline in their interactions. They were barely even on speaking terms.

  
Fitz seemed snarly to Keefe and Keefe seemed annoyed and off-put with Fitz. Their entire dynamic had switched since the first time she’d met them.   
  


Sophie had gotten a front-row seat to their downfall.  
  


And she hated it.  
  


A part of her, deep down, knew it was her. She’d separated them. She didn’t entirely know how, but she had a feeling it had to do with. . .  
  


“You feeling okay?”  
  


“Yeah, uh, just thinking.” Sophie nibbled on her lower lip. “Can I maybe ask you a hard question?”  
  


“Sure. Throw it at me.” Keefe looked fairly confident when he said it, but Sophie could feel the way the muscles in his wrist had tensed, straining on his fingers.

“It’s nothing bad,” Sophie assured.   
  


It really _was_ a simple question. She was only wondering what it had been like for Keefe and Fitz to work together during her limbium reset. Had it gone smoothly, all things considered?  
  


“I’m just curious. I was out for a while and I. . . Wanted to know what you and Fitz had to, you know, do? After I took the pill?”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows were sewn together. “To keep you. . . ?” He trailed off, wincing. Sophie guessed he had probably been going to end the question with ‘alive’ or something along the lines of it.  
  


Keefe cleared his throat when Sophie nodded in confirmation. “Uh, I don’t know. Fitz said he watched your consciousness, kinda how you’ve said you do that during healings. He just stayed with you. Tried to bring up a few good memories. Talked to you.” Keefe shrugged. “We tried to work with your emotional centre a bit, to see if we could tweak it or influence it. But that didn’t really work.”  
  


“What was wrong with my emotional centre?”  
  


“You were scared.” Keefe’s eyes looked a little sorrowful. “Like, _really_ scared. I don’t know how, but that was higher than your level of pain.”  
  


“Oh.” Sophie didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t embarrassed, but it also felt like a _very_ vulnerable situation. “And it didn’t work?”  
  


“No.” Keefe sounded a little defeated. “And Fitz and I tried, trust me. But then again it all happened so fast and we didn’t have a lot of time because your h—” His voice halted to an embarrassing crackly end. He cleared his throat.  
  


Sophie’s brain filled in the gaps.  
  


Heart.  
  


Her heart had stopped.   
  


And she’d been pulled away from the tree. . . Hands ripped from Keefe and Fitz. . . Elwin and Livvy had started chest compressions. . .  
  


It was a horrible and awkward image to try and recreate in her head. Yet, for some reason, she couldn’t get the scene out: her lying on the blankets and pillows, limp as a ragdoll, hair splayed out behind her as her pulse ceased.  
  


There was a thread of warmth attached to the scene, however. Filled with hope and serenity.  
  


A green breeze that whisked across her consciousness.  
  


Sophie had almost forgotten that miracle. She still couldn't precisely place how he’d approached sending it to her, but either way, she knew it had been a vital piece of the puzzle that had kept her alive. She wasn’t sure what would have happened without that. Without him.  
  


“How did you do that?” Sophie blurted.  
  


Keefe’s lips pursed, eyebrows crunching together. “Do. . . What?”  
  


Sophie knew it sounded cheesy, but she whispered, “Help save me,” as her cheeks tinted pink. “You sent a green breeze instead of a blue one.” She lifted her hand, placing it over her heart. Keefe followed the motion with his eyes, searing on to the visual. “It. . . Felt like it started my heart.”  
  


Keefe swallowed. “Really?” His voice cracked the tiniest bit.  
  


“Yeah,” Sophie confirmed. “I wasn’t very aware of everything around me. . . _Clearly_ . But. . . I knew that was you. I recognized it.”  
  


_It felt safe and warm and. . .  
  
_

She made eye contact, finishing the thought in her head. _  
  
_

_Like you. It felt just like you.  
  
_

Keefe blinked at her, hands already setting to Instantaneous Fidget Mode in his lap. He let out an, “Uh,” before looking to his lap, avoiding holding her prodding gaze. Sophie watched his Adam’s apple bob and for a moment she wondered if he was looking away from her because he didn’t want her to see his eyes get misty. “Elwin and Livvy dragged you away from the tree when you passed out. Your heart had stopped, so they. . .”  
  


Sophie ran her finger along her chest, nodding to herself as she remembered being told the story. But she didn’t want to fill it in for Keefe. Sophie needed him to tell her it himself.  
  


His voice wobbled when he continued, “They started doing chest compressions to start your heart again. And they were warning us that if we heard cracking it was okay, because that would just be your ribs since they needed to actually push your heart to get it beating again, but they were in the way and—” Keefe took a deep breath when he ran out of air, shaking his head. “They promised it could all be fixed afterwards. But. . . your heart wouldn’t start right away. And there was so much yelling, so I. . . I freaked out. We all did, but I remember just. . . Feeling like you were already gone.”  
  


Keefe shook his head again and Sophie’s heart squeezed painfully when she swore she heard some kind of sniffle. But then Keefe was brushing it off again like it was nothing, straightening his back and shaking his head to keep himself distracted from any beckoning tears. “I remembered back to when I figured out I could send you those little breezes when we were in Ravagog. I figured even if it didn’t do anything. . . You’d feel nice. You’d feel something when you went. You’d. . . Feel me.”  
  


Sophie reached forward, ignoring the weight on her chest so that she could grab Keefe’s hand. He turned back to her at the contact, looking first at their laced fingers before meeting her eyes. “When I got beside Livvy and Elwin and grabbed your hand, I. . . I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt really determined. I didn’t want you to die. Not like that. Not after you’d fought so hard for everything. And when I sent out the breeze, I kind of knew something about it was different. It felt less. . . Chilly and more. . . Warm, if that makes sense?”  
  


Sophie nodded. His blue ones had always been like a rush of cold water that cleared her head and steadied her buzzing nerves. His green one had felt warm and soft, though, like she’d been wrapped in moss. “It’s the colour of life,” Sophie agreed.  
  


Keefe nodded. “And grief.” He swallowed. “I was afraid of living without you. I can’t. . .” A shuddering breath interrupted him. “I can’t do that,” he rasped.  
  


“You don’t have to,” Sophie promised, chest aching for him when she spotted the tears glittering like diamonds in his eyes. “I’m right here. I’ll always be right here. You know I wouldn’t leave you, right? We’re going to fight sometimes, but I won’t ever stop caring for you. Even if you’re being really, _really_ stupid.”   
  


Keefe didn’t smile. Didn’t even acknowledge the attempt at a joke.   
  


The air between felt thick and musty. And Sophie knew it wasn’t just from the nose-scrunch-worthy smell of sweat.  
  


“You wanna know a secret?”  
  


Keefe’s shoulders bounced with a shrug. But from the way his eyes darted over to her and recoiled faster than lightning, Sophie knew he was trying to act cool.  
  


Sophie gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t live without you, either. I’d do anything to save you. I don’t care what it might be.”  
  


Keefe made some sort of huff-laugh that barely lifted his chest. Sophie knew he wasn’t laughing because he found it funny, but because he found it amusing. Or there was the possibility that he disagreed with her decision. Most likely the latter.  
  


“That’s a waste of your time.”  
  


Definitely the latter.  
  


Sophie’s frown resembled a wilted flower. “I don’t think it is.”  
  


“Well, I. . .” Keefe never really finished the sentence. He ended the fragment with a shrug. He seemed to be doing that a lot.  
  


“So, you get to save me, but I don’t get to save you?” Sophie tilted her head. “That doesn’t seem fair.”  
  


“Didn’t save you,” Keefe argued. “Not alone, at least.”  
  


“And I’m not saving _you_ alone,” Sophie promised. She leaned in closer, making sure he knew she was serious when she enunciated, “A lot of people care for you, Keefe. It’s not just me.”  
  


Keefe stared down at their hands. He moved a thumb across hers. “It doesn’t feel like it, is all I’m saying.”  
  


“I get that,” Sophie empathized. “But that little voice in your head is wrong. I’m telling you that right now. It’s not bad for you to say that people care for you. That doesn’t make you bad or selfish or anything. Because people _do_ care for you. Biana and Dex and Fitz and Linh and Tam—”  
  


“Okay, let’s not rope Bangs Boy into this one. That’s going a little too far.”  
  


“He _does_ like you!”  
  


“He _tolerates_ me.”  
  


Sophie giggled at the dead expression Keefe had. “Come on. He enjoys your company and your stupid teasing. You both get each other. You’ve got similar views and experiences. Really. Even if he’s tough, Tam worries for you. I promise.”  
  


“Mm,” Keefe concurred. He sighed. “Yeah, whatever. Guess I tolerate him, too, then.”  
  


Sophie rolled her eyes ─ but she was smiling. “You’re so dramatic,” she murmured.  
  


“I’m a good balance of dramatic and serious,” Keefe defended. His face was soft, only broken by a minuscule twitch of his lips and the sparkle in the ice of his eyes.  
  


“You are,” Sophie consoled. “But sometimes I worry about your dramatic side. I like it, don’t get me wrong” ─ Keefe smiled ─ “but I never want you to feel like you have to hide behind it. You tend to do that.” Sophie’s voice dropped at the end. She gave him a sheepish-sort of twitch-smile.  
  


Keefe’s sigh sounded tired. “Yeah. Habit.”  
  


“Bad habit.”  
  


“Bad habit,” Keefe relented. “I’ll work on it.”  
  


“You’ve got a lot of things to work on,” Sophie admitted.  
  


Keefe didn’t seem to take offense to it. He only sighed in a way that seemed to say, “It’s fun being me.”  
  


She gifted him with a delicate smile. “Thank you for trying, Keefe.”  
  


“Welcome. And. . . Don’t forget to say thanks to the Fitzter. You know, for all the telepath stuff that day. He misses you. And for the record. . . I missed you, too.” He squeezed their interlocked hands.  
  


“And I missed you.” Sophie stared at their fingers. “Thanks for being here with me.”  
  


“You know I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.” His thumb trailed over the top of her hand.  
  


Sophie would have blushed if the room hadn’t already been boiling hot - and if she’d had the energy. She could already feel the numb tickle beginning to swell at the base of her skull. A reminder that she was about to switch to another memory.  
  


Sophie laid back against the headboard. “I think I’m gonna go back to sleep for a little bit.”  
  


“Should I tell Elwin or anyone that you were up?”  
  


Sophie shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Just. . . Can you stay here? Until I fall asleep?”  
  


Keefe’s eyelashes fluttered curiously. Eventually, he dipped his chin. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice soft. “Okay.”  
  


Sophie mumbled a gentle “thank you”. Her eyes drooped not long after. Once she closed them, she let the rhythmic sound of Keefe’s breathing and the steady swirl of his thumb on her knuckles drift her to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

SOPHIE RECOGNIZED Havenfield’s cliffside the moment her vision glittered back. From the distant slosh and crash of waves hundreds of feet below, to the stunning expanse of grassy knolls, it was a hard landmark to mistake.  
  


Sophie spun around, trying to find Keefe anywhere. She didn’t spot him right away, which made her frown.  
  


It was the first part of Keefe’s dream land that didn’t connect to a memory surrounding Sophie — not that she knew of, anyway, but it made sense, given that Keefe didn’t seem to be there. She couldn’t connect anything from the scene to a memory of her own, either.  
  


That didn’t quite make sense, though, because it had been made clear that the recurring pattern was herself. . . Hadn’t it? She’d shown up in every scene. Keefe’s brain even made it a point to erase the other people who had been with them in those memories, focusing on her and him solely.   
  


So, if she hadn’t been physically present for this memory but it was still linked to her. . . How did that work? Had he been thinking of her, during this time?  
  


And when was ‘this time’?  
  


Sophie peeked at the sun. It was only beginning to bubble over the cliff’s edge like a warm, yellow yolk, which meant it was early in the morning. And she didn’t have many memories of being outside Havenfield at dawn with Keefe, which meant. . . She’d probably been inside Havenfield during whatever memory this was. And Sophie tended to sleep in late, so. . . She had been in her room, at the time.  
  


But why was Keefe outside? And where?  
  


Sophie started talking towards the house, hoping that she'd find Keefe sprawled somewhere along the way. By the time she reached the glittering property, she'd seen no sign of Keefe, so she decided to take the search into the pastures. Sophie tracked along a familiar dirt path that led past grass hills and crystal ponds, scanning every square inch of the animal's pens. Sophie had almost given up hope, lungs burning for much-needed air from the long hike to the edge of the cliffs, before she spotted him.   
  


The moment she registered the figure across the way as Keefe, she could have kicked herself. She should have  _ known  _ this was that memory.  
  


Keefe was curled up against Calla's tree, overlooking the waves sloshing against the rocks on the beach that lay hundreds of feet down the cliffside. Luna pranced giddily around the tree, chasing after every spare petal that fluttered to the ground. Wynn, on the other hand, was much more tame. He had snuggled up in Keefe's lap like a cat.

  
Keefe absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Wynn's mane, twisting the bed sheets underneath him with his free hand.  
  


Keefe had slept overnight under Calla's tree one night - the night that he'd found out about Gisela's suspected involvement with the death of a human man she tried to recruit - and his 10-year-old daughter. A crime that Keefe feared her had something to do with, himself.  
  


They'd discovered it all almost too quickly to process. Keefe had wound up irrational and bitter and looking like he was on the verge of sobbing - which Sophie couldn’t have blamed him for. So, she'd silently led him over to the pillow fort she had set up under the panakes. She let him collapse so that she could tuck him in, settle him down, and let sleep overtake his exhausted body.  
  


“Hey,” Sophie called to him when she was within earshot. “You’re up.”  
  


Keefe’s head shot up from peering down at Wynn. He blinked, seeming stunned to see her awake as well.  
  


“Hi,” he replied. “ _ You’re _ up.” She could have sworn there was some sort of delight making his eyes shimmer. They never strayed from her form as she strode over, sitting down in the heap of pillows and blankets. A few panakes petals had drifted down onto the makeshift bed and Sophie began gently brushing them off.  
  


“Yeah. Couldn't sleep." She glanced at the hand he had buried in the blankets. His knuckles were whiter than Wynn's shimmery fur.  
  


Sophie frowned. That was never a good sign.  
  


"How are you doing?”  
  


The blue of his eyes dulled significantly. Any hint of the excitement that had been coursing through them when he'd first laid eyes on her had vanished, like she'd clocked him over the head with a reality stick. He shrugged his sullen shoulders, distracting himself by scratching Wynn behind the ears. “You know. Good as I can.”  
  


She didn’t doubt that. She had no idea how she’d react if she found out half of the things about her own mom that Keefe had with his. "I’m sorry," she murmured.  
  


Keefe only shrugged again. "I'm sorry, too, yeah."  
  


Sophie tried to swallow the knot in her throat. "I. . ." She didn't really know what she was supposed to say to him. He didn't appear like he was aching to talk about it, but the presence of the memory made it clear he secretly did. Or maybe he'd just wanted her to be with him, at that time.   
  


Her stomach braided uncomfortably. She wished she'd gotten up earlier so she could have been there for him. She hadn't been aware he was up this early, but the more she thought about it, he had probably been tossing and turning throughout the night, considering all the wrenching information he'd obtained.  
  


"I can feel that uncertainty and worry.” Keefe’s voice sounded like a tired tut. “And you don't have to say anything, Foster," he strained.  
  


"But I want to," she insisted. She looked to his hand, again, which had managed to fist tighter. She extended her arm without thinking, placing her palm over his. She waited until he met her eyes to say, "It's not your fault, Keefe. You can't put that on yourself. You don't know what happened."  
  


"Exactly, I don't know what happened. I could have  _ killed _ them." He choked on the last part. Keefe tore a hand through his hair. His eyes glittered. "It makes sense. She'd have me do it without me actually realizing that I  _ was _ . Then it wouldn't be on her consciousness. She wouldn't feel guilty. And she'd just wipe my mind clean of it, so I wouldn’t break."  
  


Sophie shook her head as gently as possible. "It  _ doesn't _ make full sense, actually," she offered, "because she'd still have guilt. If that had happened, she'd always know she was the one who gave the order. She'd always know she'd deceived you into that."   
  


Keefe opened his mouth to argue more when Sophie shook her head. "And your Mom is really good at twisting things. We know that by now. She says them to get us distracted and to make us overthink and worry. She wants you vulnerable, Keefe. She wants you crawling back to her because she wants you to think that she has all the answers and the means to save you."  
  


A muscle in Keefe's throat feathered. He was clearly tensing up.   
  


Sophie squeezed his hand. "I know it's hard to hear. I'm sorry. But she doesn't have anything that's going to help you or save you. She wants _ you  _ to save  _ her _ , Keefe. And that's not how things should work."  
  


Keefe could only stare at their hands with watery eyes. Wynn shuffled on Keefe's lap, clearly in tune to whatever emotional scene was occurring. He whinied. Keefe's attention flicked back to the alicorn briefly, the faintest tickle of a smile lifting a single corner of his mouth. "Sorry, bud," Keefe whispered, returning to petting Wynn.  
  


Keefe cleared his throat, finally mustering the courage to look Sophie in the eyes. "You. . . really don't think I had anything to do with it? It's pretty convenient if you ask me. I go to London to give the guy a letter. It doesn't work out. Suddenly, a few hours later, he and his daughter are dead." His voice cracked with the end of his sentence.  
  


Her heart ached for him. "We have video evidence of your Mom on that street," Sophie reminded. She winced, not knowing if that would make it worse or better. It could break him to come to terms with the fact that it was most likely his Mom, or it could go the exact opposite direction and make it better for him, knowing that he hadn’t been on that street. It was too early for her to figure out what way he was leaning, so she continued, feeling like she was walking on a minefield.   
  


"She was there around that time. And you weren't. So whatever happened was either a freak accident or something that she has to deal with."  
  


"If I didn't do it, then it means she killed a little girl and her dad." Keefe made a tiny sound, muffled in his throat, close to a whimper. His lips spread into a thin line as he tried to press his mouth shut. He screwed his eyes closed briefly, shaking his head.  
  


Sophie's heart wrenched when he took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. His eyes fluttered open again, landing immediately on her. "That means my Mom had no problem killing two innocent people, Foster. If she did that just because he wouldn't join her. . ."  
  


There it was. One of Keefe's unspoken fears: What was his mother truly capable of? They'd long suspected she hadn't unleashed her full terror on any of them. If this was true - which was very probable - then that confirmed it.  
  


“ _ If _ she did that, it’s on her. I know I sound like a broken record, Keefe, but anything that your Mom did, regardless of whether or not she chose to involve you, is entirely her own fault. You were a kid. You had no idea. She manipulated you, manipulated your memories. You can’t possibly say it’s your fault.”  
  


“Foster, I can’t help but feel like I could have stopped it if I’d looked harder-”  
  


Sophie interrupted him firmly, “No, you couldn’t. Even if you took away the Washer, you wouldn’t have been able to. You were ten, Keefe.”  
  


Sophie had a sickening feeling there were other buried things in his subconscious that had happened, too, when he was much, much younger. But she didn’t have time to dwell on the thought.   
  


Sophie scooted closer. Wynn nickered between the two of them, causing Sophie to flicker her eyes down. She quirked a tentative smile. Sophie almost sent the alicorn a transmission when she remembered he wasn’t really  _ Wynn _ .  
  


Sophie rallied her concentration back to Keefe. Nope. She couldn’t get distracted by the factuality of it all. She had to stay focused. She had to comfort her friend.  
  


She had to wake him up.  
  


“We almost had her yesterday, Foster,” Keefe whispered, running his free hand through Wynn’s fur.   
  


Sophie wished there was some more-efficient way to show her support because squeezing his hand clearly wasn’t working - if she held it any tighter, she feared she was going to snap his hand.  
  


“We did,” Sophie agreed. “And we’ve almost had her a lot of times before, which means we can do it again.”  
  


“What if she does something before then and it’s too late? What if she hurts somebody again?”  
  


Sophie swallowed. She tried to prevent her throat from going taut as she forced out, “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. And if it does. . . We’ll find a way to make it work. You know I’m pretty good at saving people.”  
  


Keefe finally spared her a smile. He squeezed her fingers tighter, voice dropping soft and low as he said, “Try not to flex on the rest of us, there, Foster.”   
  


He said it sincerely. Maybe even a little sweet - like he agreed with what she’d previously claimed.  
  


“Mm,” she mused, fighting to keep her heart out of her throat, “it’s a little hard not to when I’m pretty good at it.” When his smile broadened an inch, she had the guts to add, “You’re not too bad at it, either, you know.”  
  


Keefe snorted. “Saving people?” His mouth found a way to curve in an incredulous way alongside his brow. “Since when have I saved someone?”  
  


“You’ve helped to save people a lot of times,” Sophie protested, seeing how he clearly didn’t believe her.  
  


“Uh-huh,” Keefe’s smirk disappeared. He rolled his shoulders, mood souring. He challenged, “Okay. Name one.”  
  


Sophie was sure Keefe hadn’t meant to become so bitter so fast, but that didn’t stop her chest from compressing. Keefe must have sensed how her mood drooped because his face softened deeper.   
  


Before Keefe could mention it, Sophie interrupted, “Me.” She shrugged quickly.  
  


Keefe reacted in shock. His eyebrows stuck together like they’d been glued and the tip of his nose scrunched for a millisecond. “You? Foster, since  _ when _ ?” He managed to laugh when he said it, like the thought of him somehow saving her was funny. Like it wasn’t a possibility.  
  


“Since, like, forever?” Sophie countered. “You’ve talked me out of some pretty bad places. And let’s not even forget that green breeze because that was. . .” She didn’t have a word to describe it. She didn't have time to find the right word, anyway, so she moved past it.   
  


“Saving doesn’t mean you need to swoop in and prevent. . . I don’t know, demise or doom. Sometimes saving just means helping.” Sophie shrugged again. Sophie knew it was cheesy, but she had to say  _ something _ to get him to believe her.  
  


Sophie turned to capture his gaze to make sure he knew she meant it when she said, “Helping is enough. Saving isn’t a contest.”  
  


Keefe kept silently petting Wynn. She figured he wasn’t going to answer, until seconds later he squeezed her hand and mumbled, “Wise words, Foster.”  
  


Sophie’s smile returned when she swore she saw a light flush on his cheeks. This was one of the times she wished she was an Empath - getting to feel his happiness in that moment would definitely be considered a prize to her. “It’s the wise truth,” she promised.  
  


Keefe’s face broke into a smile as he laughed. He looked at her for the first time in a few minutes as he mused, “You do know if that’s the truth then you’ve saved around, like, five whole families, right on the daily, right?”  
  


Sophie snorted. “I wish.” But she smiled back at him. “Do I at least save you every once in a while?”  
  


“Oh, hourly,” Keefe replied - and Sophie would have thought he was teasing had she not seen his face. He was being nothing but earnest, even though there had been a playful quality in his tone.  
  


Wynn made a whinny and Keefe laughed. “He’s agreeing with me.”  
  


“Um, no he is not.”  
  


“He totally is.”  
  


“Which one of us is the Telepath who can communicate with animals?”  
  


Keefe’s chuckling was softer than Wynn’s fur or the petals gathering in Sophie’s hair. “Touche, Foster. Touche. But we all know I’m pretty good with babies,” - he paused momentarily to rub Wynn’s ears between his thumbs - “ _ especially _ alicorn babies. So, if my calculations are correct, Wynn agrees  _ big _ time.”  
  


Keefe grinned down at the baby before shooting the same cheesy smile at Sophie.   
  


She held back the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine,” Sophie resented. At least he was happy. “Wynn’s agreeing - with both of us. You’ve saved me and I’ve saved you.”  
  


“We’re even,” Keefe agreed and for the first time since their conversation had begun, he seemed. . . Content. Like he believed what she was saying to him. That was far better than anything she could have asked for.  
  


“I think no matter what happens, we’ll always be even,” Sophie decided.  
  


Keefe hummed. “What does that mean?”  
  


Sophie shrugged while petting Wynn alongside Keefe. She cleared her throat when their hands accidentally brushed, trying to choose a different path through the alicorn’s fur. “I don’t know exactly. We’ve got each other’s backs all the time, was all that I was thinking. We’re a team - it’s not really a matter of paying each other back for helping out.” She looked up at him. “You know that, right? I don’t help you out because you’ve helped me out a ton. I mean, I guess I like helping you out because of that, but it’s not the reason I do it. I do it because I like you. I like helping you.”

  
Sophie turned pinker than the flowers fluttering to the grass. For a moment she thought she’d taken her ramblings too far before Keefe said, “Thanks, Foster.” And he was smiling.  
  


“Yeah,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Really. I mean it.”  
  


He bobbed his head. He didn’t look at her, occupied with Wynn, but his smile grew brighter. “I know.” He flicked his eyes up to look at her. “I feel the same about you.”  
  


For what felt like the millionth time that day, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She gave one in return. “Thanks.”  
  


Sophie’s face was probably burning brighter than the sunrise, but she ignored it to the best of her ability, hoping her heart would calm down so that she wouldn’t risk Keefe hearing it - or noticing the shift in her mood, period. But he most likely already had.  
  


They sat in comfortable silence for what felt like a peaceful eternity. Or maybe it was two. Sophie didn’t really know, but she hoped it meant that Keefe was beginning to set aside his doubts.  
  


They sat together until the sun began to burn on her shoulders. The only thing that interrupted the longer than life moment was Sophie’s head warning her that another switch was coming up. She risked a few glances at Keefe as the tug grew stronger, savouring the image of him smiling, shoulders and lap blanketed in petals as he stroked Wynn’s nose. Then she closed her eyes and gave in to the pull.


	13. Chapter 13

SOPHIE COULDN’T MOVE. She tried to get up from the floor, but to no avail. She tried again, but it wouldn’t work with any amount of effort she gave or wriggling she did. Her wrists were bound tightly against her back, ropes slicing into her skin.   
  


Sophie gasped, her entire body tensing as her eyes tore open. Sophie sucked in a second gut-wrenching breath, focusing on the fact that her mouth wasn’t blocked by a gag.  
  


_You’re not there. You’re not there. It’s fine_.  
  


No amount of convincing could wipe the flashbacks from where they were burned on the backs of her eyelids, though. Sophie could smell the reeking sedatives and feel the ghost of a meaty hand moving to cover her mouth, but no. No, she wasn’t being taken. There was no one restraining her. She could move freely. And Keefe. . .  
  


Keefe was there, in front of her, planted on a magsidian throne. His shoulders were rigid, his back stiff as he scanned the room with his eyes. A crease trickled in the center of his brows, and it only grew deeper when he noticed Sophie in her knotted predicament on the dusty floor.  
  


“Foster?”  
  


Sophie took a deep, shuddering breath, squirming on the floor. “Keefe,” she gasped. “Hang on.”   
  


It took Sophie longer to sit upright than she would have wanted, but once she did, she channeled energy into her arms and wrists, pulling to snap the cords that bound them. Sophie winced at the raw way they rubbed her skin, bringing her arms forward to inspect the tender skin. She swiftly hopped off the floor and tailed over to Keefe.  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows knit together, and he only got out, “What’s─” before Sophie had essentially catapulted herself onto the boy. Keefe let out a surprised huff, accompanied by a, “Whoa,” as Sophie readjusted in his arms.  
  


Sophie didn’t care that it was an intimate position, where she was essentially straddling his lap. Keefe was the center of Sophie’s attention and she wasn’t going to apologize for bundling him in her embrace.  
  


Sophie shuddered in his arms, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She reached up and knit a hand through his hair. She had to remind herself that he was okay. They weren’t back in Loamnore, not really, and Keefe didn’t even have the etherine crown on his head.  
  


Gisela wasn’t there. Neither were Tam or Glimmer. Her friends weren’t unconscious on the floor, either.  
  


_Deep breaths. Take deep breaths_.  
  


Sophie repeated the chant mentally as she inhaled deeply, exhaling as slow as she could manage.  
  


“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Keefe asked, rubbing a shaking hand on her back. “Are you hurt? You were tied up - why were you tied up?”  
  


Sophie lifted her head out of his shoulder, shaking her head with conviction, trying to shush him as he frantically spoke. She inhaled, trying not to sniffle. “I was tied up. . . on accident. You don’t have to worry.” Keefe gave her his most solid “I don’t believe you” look, prompting Sophie to continue. “I’m okay. _We’re_ okay. Alright? Just. . . Trust me.” Her voice wobbled too much to sound convincing. She bit her lip and tore her eyes away from his prying gaze.   
  


Sophie resisted the need to shudder as she looked around the throne room. Why _here_ ? Why would Keefe’s subconscious ever choose this memory? This was an _awful_ memory.   
  


Then again. . . Maybe he appreciated not having to be alone during it. Sophie had guided him - and though it wasn’t a pleasant experience, it had been intimate. Sophie had felt like their minds were holding hands the entire time she’d been connected to him during the ritual (which was incredibly sappy to think of, she had to admit, but it was the truth).  
  


Absent-mindedly, Sophie circled her thumbs on Keefe’s shoulders, clenching her jaw in some attempt to keep the tears at bay when her eyes drifted to the pieces of magsidian chunked into the packed-dirt walls.  
  


Keefe was shaking his head from side to side when Sophie had the courage to look at him again. “But I don’t. . .” The line between his eyebrows grew deeper. He met her eyes. “I don’t know where we are.”  
  


Sophie’s thumbs skidded to a halt on his biceps. “You don’t recognize it?”

  
Keefe shook his head again. “No?”

Sophie’s eyebrows furrowed. It must have been Keefe’s brain’s way of shielding him from what had happened, like Mr. Forkle had said. It was refusing to give him access to those memories, knowing that if he saw any of it, he’d wake up.  
  


That meant she was close. She was _so_ close.

  
Keefe lifted one hand off of her waist. He placed it over his heart, rubbing the spot on his chest like it was sore. He piped up, “It doesn’t feel good, though? If that makes sense.”  
  


Sophie nodded solemnly. No doubt it felt negative for him, in some way, whether it be a whisper of terror or a prick of agony. She could remember how dark his mind had felt during the ritual. How there was practically no light, much like the King’s Path. There had been grief and horror and unyielding, merciless pain. She didn’t doubt Keefe felt some presence of that shadow, now.  
  


“It’s not supposed to feel good,” Sophie acknowledged. “It’s. . . not a good place.”   
  


She scanned the area once more, feeling the need to confirm they were truly alone and that Keefe was safe. Sophie wouldn’t put it past his mind to break the barrier by accident and send him into an agonizing replay of that damned ritual. If it happened, she was going to be there. Just like last time.  
  


Sophie registered the tiniest sound from Keefe, like a grunt, which caused her to whirl her head back to face him. “Are you hurt?”  
  


Keefe assured her, “No,” with a tiny shake of his head. “There’s just pressure. A lot. . .” He took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut. “A _lot_ of pressure.”  
  


“Where?”  
  


“Head and chest.”  
  


In other words, right where some of his most vital organs were. Great.  
  


The shadowflux had targeted his brain during the ritual, so Sophie decided to make-do with what brain-centered skills she had. She hoped sending a blast of energy into his head would relieve some of the pressure. . .  
  


Which was going to be weird for her, considering she was already inside his mind.  
  


“Okay, let me try something.”  
  


Sophie reached for his temples despite knowing that wasn’t his physical body. Two fingers taped over his temples and she closed her eyes, bracing her shaky breathing when she began to gather clusters of mental energy. She felt them thrum in the back of her skull, clotting and growing, growing, growing. . . 

  
She envisioned it like a sack of apples slung over her shoulder, increasing in size and weight as it pinned her shoulders. Once she deemed it heavy enough, she forced it out of her mind, through her fingertips, and into his head.  
  


The blast forced her eyes open. Keefe was staring back at her wide-eyed, too.   
  


Briefly, the scenery around them flickered like a hologram. The only thing Sophie could do was stare as it warped and stretched, snapping back in an instant as if nothing had happened. Sophie noticed some sort of light shimmer coating the walls and floor, then, as if it was dripping with the golden energy she’d transmitted.  
  


Keefe didn’t seem to notice, too busy blinking as he gazed up at her. Sophie blushed, removing her fingers from his temples when she realized she still had them placed over the skin. “Better or worse?” she checked.  
  


“Better,” Keefe answered. “Thanks.”  
  


Sophie exhaled in relief. “Welcome.”  
  


Neither knew what to say after that. Keefe swallowed, the hands on her hips loosening. “So, any reason why you’re all cuddled up on my lap? Don’t get me wrong, I like Foster hugs, but. . .” The tilted smile he gave her was clearly meant to be a smirk, a mask to make it look like Keefe was prepared and felt secure, but it didn’t hold.   
  


“. . .Is something wrong?”  
  


“No,” she said. She hoped.   
  


Keefe could feel her uncertainty, without a doubt. He raised a suspecting eyebrow.  
  


“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “I don’t know what to do at this point. That’s all.”  
  


“Okay, then. . .” Keefe looked around as if something in the room would give him a clue as to what was going on. Sophie’s stomach squirmed. She didn’t like having to keep the truth from him, but there was no real good point in trying to explain where they were and why they had ended up there. If anything, it’d just jeopardize her mission. Sophie was shocked she hadn’t already been kicked out.  
  


“Are we gonna leave?”  
  


Sophie was snapped from her thoughts. “Leave?” she parroted.  
  


“Yeah,” Keefe confirmed. “I mean, you seem to know where we are.”  
  


“I. . . I do,” Sophie admitted slowly. But getting out of there was the more complicated part. Sophie didn’t know that even _if_ Keefe did understand where they were, that his brain would accurately be able to depict the layout of Loamnore so that they could escape.  
  


. . .Not that Sophie would even know the correct tunnels to take.  
  


And Keefe didn’t know about her new way of teleporting, yet, either, so his brain wouldn’t allow her to do the whole run-and-glitch trick.  
  


And lightleaping wasn’t possible.  
  


And she also had to keep in mind they were in a dreamscape.  
  


Ugh, this was becoming a whole lot more complicated than she’d wanted.  
  


Sophie exhaled slowly, hoping it would ease up her tense shoulders as she scanned the room.

It made no sense why this was one of his dreamscapes. One of the chosen memories. All the scenarios before this had been happier or bittersweet, but this one was absolutely _devastating_. The fact that Keefe was unaware of what the scene linked to, as well, made it clear that he was (most likely) no longer in control of the memory selection. His brain was probably scrambling, like Mr. Forkle had said it would.   
  


It was aware of her.  
  


Not only that, but she’d reached his last memory. The last dream possible for him to produce, because (if she was counting it all up correctly), his dreams had gone in chronological order of the past. . .  
  


And this was the very last time he’d been awake with her. He couldn’t possibly create anything else after this. Which meant. . .   
  


This was her last chance.  
  


Sophie’s breath turned into a shudder. No pressure. No pressure at all.  
  


“We can go,” she confirmed, moving to leave Keefe’s embrace. Her legs tingled, feeling a weak burning in her knees before she even got up to put any weight on them.   
  


Keefe suddenly tightened his hold in a flinch, keeping her in place. His breath harshened. “Wait, Sophie.”  
  


She halted at her name. “What?”   
  


Keefe unleashed some creative words as Sophie shot her gaze down to the floor to follow his line of sight - and Sophie understood why Keefe had begun to squirm and curse.  
  


The throne had begun to melt. “Melt” still wasn’t the right word, though. Just like last time, instead of cascading the thick syrup down to the floor, it started to drip up, sealing to Keefe and Sophie’s bodies. By the time Sophie reacted and sucked in a sharp breath, the ooze had reached her knee.  
  


Keefe didn’t seem to know what to do besides attempt to kick, which didn’t get him very far. He could barely move, becoming less and less mobile as it slithered up their bodies.   
  


Sophie knew struggling was useless. They couldn’t stop it, didn’t have time to question how it had begun, wouldn’t be able to afford wasting time on guessing what was to come.  
  


They had to deal with it. Survive it.  
  


Sophie shivered. Her wild eyes searched for Keefe’s, but he was busy focusing on holding onto her waist for dear life, like that touch would save her, as he fought to wriggle. Without a second thought, Sophie tapped her fingers under his jaw and pushed his chin up. “Don’t look,” she ordered, harsher than intended.  
  


“Why!?” Keefe asked, fright eminent in his bewildered tone. He disobeyed her immediately as he flashed his eyes down to the goop.   
  


“It’s your mind playing tricks, alright, just _don’t look_ . If you don’t look at it, it’s not there.” Sophie _severely_ prayed that was true. Her breath hitched when the substance glided up her thigh, waxing her to Keefe’s lap. Sophie’s heart jumped. “Remember when we talked about happy places?” she asked, trying not to sound squeaky.  
  


Keefe was too occupied staring at the sludge climbing up his waist to see the fear racing across her features. “I don’t see how that’s going to help!”  
  


Sophie grabbed Keefe’s chin, firmer than the first time, forcing him to look up at her and away from the melting throne. “It’ll distract you. I’ll do it with you.”  
  


“So you can see this, too?”  
  


Sophie hesitated. What could she tell him? It felt like the wrong decision to admit that yes, they could see the same thing, because then he’d freak more, but if she told him no, it was lying right to him.   
  


Sophie freed his chin, hand dropping onto his shoulder. At last, Sophie stuttered, “Yes, I can.”   
  


Keefe tried asking her a few more times what was happening and why she wouldn’t give him a straight answer, but Sophie only shook her head and begged him to trust her - a really difficult thing to do, with the tar gripping its way up their torsos in a slither that felt all-too snake-like.  
  


“ _Foster_.”  
  


“I know, Keefe,” she replied, sounding a bit too snappy. She tried to exhale calmly, but it came out as more of a shiver.   
  


They couldn’t get out, she knew that much. She’d seen how hopeless it had been for Keefe the first time, devastated and alone on the cruel throne that had been rigged to trap him like flypaper. Even if he wasn’t aware of the past, his dream was obviously following it. So, there was nothing more she could do than what she did last time.  
  


She had to guide him through.  
  


Sophie swallowed when the slime seemed to cinch tighter around her. She tried not to imagine what it would feel like when it reached her mouth. “You remember when we had Lady Belva for detention?”  
  


“What?”  
  


“Lady Belva. _Detention_ ,” Sophie urged.  
  


Keefe looked dumbfounded, like he didn’t know what to say. His mouth gaped. His jaw moved even though he remained silent. His muscles were searching for the words, going through the actions, but nothing vocal came out - until he scrunched his eyebrows.  
  


“‘Do you remember’ is a _terrible_ way to start a sentence when you’re talking to someone with a photographic memory,” — Sophie smiled — “and I don’t think it’s elvinly possible to forget something like _that_.”  
  


Despite the situation, bubble laughter escaped from Sophie, whether from genuine humor or the panic, she didn’t know. Her eyes watered with tears from the fear building up in her chest. “Okay, it wasn’t _that_ bad. We’ve had way worse.”  
  


“We _have_ had way worse, but it _was_ that bad.”  
  


Sophie only got halfway through telling him not to be so melodramatic when he confessed, “She pulled me away from you. I wanted to dance with you.”   
  


Keefe flushed red. Sophie’s ability to breathe leapt out the window.   
  


He shrugged: or, tried to shrug. The dark sludge clawing up his shoulder blades weighed them down so that they could only bounce a little.  
  


Keefe seemed to notice and Sophie scrambled to keep him distracted. “Yeah, that. . . That sucked.” He met her eyes and Sophie bit the inside of her cheek. She shuddered as the inky substance worked up her spine. “I wanted to dance with you, too.”  
  


Keefe’s mouth twitched. It was a sad smile, but. . . Still somehow serene. A little sweet. More tender than anything she’d really seen before; and she would be lying if she said that didn’t scare her, given the reason why Keefe probably looked at her that way, in that moment.  
  


He was prepared for the chance that they might not walk away from this one.  
  


Even in his confusion, he didn’t press for more answers as to where they were or what was happening. All he whispered was, “We should do that sometime,” his scratchy voice hardly intelligible.  
  


It took everything in Sophie not to let her eyes well any more than they already had. “We should,” Sophie agreed. Her throat constricted, and a lump harder than a rock prevented her from adding anything else. Not that she could have, had her muscles cooled down: she was unable to think clearly, staring at him, watching the seconds tick by and the blue of his eyes glimmer in the hazy light.  
  


“I’m sorry,” he murmured suddenly.  
  


“Sorry?” she asked. “Why are you _sorry_?”  
  


“You were here for me, Foster. I don’t know how or _why_ , but now-”  
  


“I _am_ here for you,” she promised, squeezing his shoulders beneath the tar. “It’s not your fault, it’s-”  
  


Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as it reached her throat. She scrambled for another less-than-stellar distraction. “What’s a happy place you can think of?”  
  


Keefe didn't waste a second, realizing soon it would be over their mouths. “You remember when you brought me those cookies after you went to London?” He made sure to look her in the eyes. “And we sat on the porch swing and ate them together?”  
  


“Yeah,” Sophie affirmed, shivering as it slicked up the side of her jaw.  
  


“That’s my happy place.”  
  


A few of the tears from Sophie’s eyes finally spilled over. “That’s my happy place, too.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes glittered with their own tears as his lips twitched numbly. He leaned forward as best he could, touching their foreheads together as the darkness covered their mouths. Sophie locked eyes with him for as long as she could before they had to close them.   
  


Panic flared in Sophie’s chest as it shielded her eyes, blocking out all light. She concentrated on the feel of Keefe’s hands on her waist, and her hands on his shoulders. At the last second, when breathing felt impossible and the darkness began to stir the monster inside of her, she began to transmit.  
  


_Happy place_ , she reminded. _Happy place_ , she repeated, over and over, until the words held a calming lull. _Go to your happy place_.


	14. Chapter 14 (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um... thanks for waiting four months for me to update again, haha. this chapter is split into two so that you can take a break if you need to, since it's so long (18k words, wow!). hope you like it! thank you for the endless support <3

SOPHIE TASTED SALT on her tongue. Sunlight flamed behind her eyelids, while the scent of the ocean drifted across a breeze, filling her lungs with sweet air that tingled.  
  


The last wisps of darkness creeping in her head were snuffed out as she leisurely opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the blazing sunlight that reflected off the sand and water. She blinked away the haze as she swivelled her head around.  
  


Sophie’s eyes landed on Keefe situated next to her, his arm propped lazily against the back of the swing. His eyes remained on the crashing tide in the distance while he chewed on something in his hand.  
  


Sophie stared at the crinkly package nestled in the middle of them. Cookies.   
  


She reverted to staring at the water.  
  


Sophie’s eyebrows knotted with thought. This was the Shores of Solace, which meant his memories weren’t in chronological order. Not anymore. This had happened near the time they’d snuck to London, which was  _ far _ earlier than the incident in Loamnore. So his mind was going. . . backwards in time?  
  


Unless. . .   
  


_ Happy place. Go to your happy place _ .  
  


The crease between her brow grew deeper. Had Keefe transported them by focusing on it?  
  


Sophie exhaled and rubbed her temples, half expecting for an angel to show up and tell her she was dead. _   
  
_

_ Fitz?  
  
_

Maybe he could tell her something about whatever was going on. Perhaps Elwin knew something by their vitals, or Forkle had remembered another crucial detail or. . .  
  


_ Fitz?  
  
_

No answer. Worse of all, it felt like she was being pushed back if she tried to transmit. Like there was someone giving a shove to her mind every time she wanted to go beyond a certain point. She focused on clotting together all the mental energy she could muster, pushing out a louder transmission.  _ Fitz, can you hear me?  
  
_

Every second that passed felt like an eternity. Several lifetimes seemed to pass and yet Sophie was given no response.  
  


Her insides curled. That had to be bad.  
  


“Hey, Foster, you good?”  
  


Sophie was barely started by his voice, too caught on trying to detangle whatever web she’d launched herself in. She turned to answer, but her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and bobbed her head, still trying to get some grip on reality. “I’m fine.”  
  


Keefe rose a not-so-convinced eyebrow. “Mm,” was all he said.  
  


Sophie felt his eyes burn on her and she ignored them to the best of her ability. She contemplated trying to reach out to Fitz again; why wouldn’t it work? It had felt like her brain had scattered in a million different directions at once, similar to when she’d tried to teleport into the Sanctuary.  
  


Maybe she was thinking about it wrong: what if it wasn’t a  _ barrier _ she was hitting? Maybe it was a maze. And with every memory that shifted, she’d been venturing deeper and deeper into the brush.  
  


A horrifying possibility struck her: what if she’d drug herself under? That would explain why she couldn’t get in contact with Fitz - and vise-versa.  
  


“Foster,” Keefe piped up, “is something wrong?”  
  


Sophie turned to look at him, only half-tuned-in to his words. Her mind was still racing. “Um. No.”   
  


Sophie tried to shake off the nauseating feeling creeping into her body. She was probably just too drained to reach out to Fitz from so deep in Keefe’s head.  
  


Keefe’s face twisted into some unconvinced expression, like he thought she was trying to avoid the question. He shifted his body on the swing so that he sat in a mildly awkward criss-cross position, feet brushing against the plastic cookie container as he faced Sophie. “Can’t lie to an Empath. Something’s up.”  
  


Sophie shrugged. She hoped he ignored her racing heart and jumbled anxiety. “Life’s up. There’s. . . a lot going on.”  
  


Not totally a lie. Life  _ was _ stressing her out. She’d just been a little. . . vague.  
  


“Well, lucky for you,” — Sophie turned when he rustled his hand around in the cookie foil — “there’s one more left. And look! They’ve got a nice smile, just like you.”  
  


Sophie tried to maintain a straight face, even as Keefe waved the elf-shaped cookie under her nose. She failed when she caught the dorky grin carved into the pastry, cracking her into laughter. She snatched it from Keefe as she shook her head.  
  


Keefe seemed content with his success, Sophie finding him softly smiling when she snapped the cookie in half. She outstretched a piece to Keefe.  
  


“Aw, I’m touched,” he cooed, plucking the cookie from her. “You? Sharing your prized cookie with me?”

  
Sophie rolled her eyes, earning a snicker from Keefe. “You act like I never do anything nice for you.” Sophie nibbled on the cookie, satisfied when the sweet taste hit her tongue. It tasted more gingery than she’d remembered, which, Sophie guessed, meant that was how Keefe had experienced the taste, so his mind was replicating it.  
  


“I never said that,” Keefe protested, grinning cheekily.  
  


Sophie shook her head. Insufferable. He was utterly insufferable.  
  


Keefe took his entire half of a cookie into his mouth, dusting his hands off of any crumbs as he munched with puffed-out cheeks. Sophie’s lips twitched at the sight. She finished off her own cookie, going straight for the packet of Jammy Dodgers.  
  


She technically could eat all she wanted with no repercussions. This was her mental body and the cookies in her hand were conjured by Keefe’s dream. And in Sophie’s mind that translated to: “I could stuff myself and not get sick.”   
  


Maybe dreamscapes weren’t half that bad.  
  


As soon as she thought it, Sophie’s insides crumbled like paper. Glimpses of Keefe’s frozen eyes burrowed into her brain. Visions of his sweaty, shivering form splintered behind her eyelids. The image of him twitching and kicking on his cot ignited her with shame.  
  


The jam on Sophie’s tongue turned sour. She forced herself to continue to guiltily nibble away when she noticed Keefe’s eyes were trained on her.  
  


“What’s that for?”  
  


“Nothing,” she lied.  
  


Keefe’s sigh was theatrical as he picked up the empty cookie container between them and chucked it onto the ground. He didn’t shift closer or reach for her hand or anything after it, but for some reason it felt important. Like he  _ wanted _ to be as close as he could.  
  


“I could just pick the answer out of you.”  
  


Sophie swallowed the cookie. “You are good at that.”  
  


A corner of his lip levitated into a smirk. “I am.” His voice sounded curious as he affirmed it, like he wondered why she’d thrown him a bone.  
  


“But you wouldn’t if I asked you not to.”  
  


Keefe’s smirk dulled, whisking into a smile before fading entirely. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t.”  
  


A hasty breath swept through her lungs. She had to find a way to get better at keeping her cool - if she had any, in the first place. Keefe could probably feel her sharp anxiety prickling him from another city, if he tried.  
  


Sophie was counting another round of teasing remarks when he unexpectedly took another route. He propped his hand in the middle bubble of space that separated their bodies - the polite proximity that Sophie had been trained to think she needed to keep with him - and leaned forward.  
  


Sophie tried to keep her eyes forward, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes gape at him. His smirk returned again, feathery and light as he watched her reaction.  
  


He patted the space in between them. His smirk muted to a coaxing smile. Welcoming.  
  


“Hey,” he muttered, “c’mere.” He tilted his chin in a motion that suggested he wanted her to lean in, as well. Sophie blushed. He’d done this the last time, too, making some silly keebler elf joke when she’d been down. But just because she could guess what was coming didn’t mean her stomach butterflies were any less agitated.  
  


“Why?” she poked.  
  


“Just trust me for once, wouldn’t you? Less questions, more movement.”  
  


Sophie raised her chin and challenged, “And what if I don’t listen to you?”   
  


Keefe smirked. “Yeah,” he mused, “you’ve never exactly been one for obeying, that’s for sure.” He tugged on her hand. “But  _ just _ this once. . .”  
  


She rolled her eyes, hoping it distracted from her pink-tinged face. “Fine.” Sophie scooted ever-so closer. She inclined her head so that their breath was shared, which made her already-squirmy stomach do a few flips.  
  


She’d been within the same proximity of Keefe too many times to count and she knew that all he intended to do was whisper some silly joke to her, but she couldn’t bite down the nagging punch of her heartbeat. Every inch of her body had switched from tamed to feral within a few seconds, running rampant against her every attempt to quell the swelling fire.  
  


Sophie waited for the joke to come so that she would have the excuse to laugh and pull back. That way she could ease up all the tension in her shoulders and act unphased by the subtle ways that Keefe affected her. But it didn’t come. Keefe didn’t speak. He sat and he breathed in at the same pace she did (which was quite labored) and he watched her.  
  


“Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to say something stupid?” she asked, her words coming out in an unintended whisper.  
  


“I’m working on it” was all he said. Keefe didn’t exactly work on anything, however. He didn’t move. Barely breathed. And he didn’t look all that focused on whatever he had been planning in the first place, either.  
  


He looked rather distracted. Almost dazed, as a matter of fact, as his dark eyelashes danced with every blink and his eyes. . . His eyes were trying to keep in tune with hers, that much was clear, but every now and then they’d whistle down for a nanosecond-  
  


Sophie denied her desire to shiver. For him to be barely flashing his gaze down like that, he  _ had _ to be aiming his sights at her mouth.  
  


There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for that. And it had to do with something -  _ anything _ \- besides bringing their mouths together.   
  


Sophie’s temperature spiked as she envisioned it. The image pooling in her mind had appeared only half against her own will. Overheated with shame, she tried to scrub out the image, but it was stuck, stubbornly suctioned to the back of her head.  
  


Sophie breathed deeply. She tried to steer herself clear of any thoughts involving kissing, but that was all that her mind would suddenly allow. She couldn’t think of what they’d been doing or why she was there or why what she was picturing was so  _ wrong _ .  
  


She shoved the imagery out, remembering to breathe. She couldn’t do that - she shouldn’t be thinking about that, not again. Why was it happening  _ again _ ? It was as if she couldn’t control herself from thinking about it, like it was some disease that had wriggled its way into her veins.  
  


Exactly like at Inktide Island, she was imagining a scenario that she’d never previously considered.   
  


Or perhaps a scenario that she’d never  _ allowed _ herself to consider.  
  


Sophie knew she’d put it off — she  _ knew _ she’d been burying something every time she looked at Keefe, but it had been a feeling so multifaceted that she’d brushed it aside. She’d never wanted to try and polish the rusty thought - she had been too afraid of what it would mean if she’d addressed it.  
  


Now she’d sure as  _ hell _ addressed it.   
  


A sparkle scuttled up Sophie’s spine and she shivered. There was  _ no _ way she was going to be able to wake him up, leave his mind, and act like everything was normal around Elwin and Tam and Mr. Forkle. . . And Fitz.  
  


This wasn’t a mistake or a fluke. This wasn’t a coping mechanism that her mind was conjuring: this was a genuine want.  
  


“Foster?” Keefe questioned quietly.  
  


Sophie’s head blared, panicked. She forced herself to meet his eyes and focus on them. It was a struggle to deny the urge to zone out because shit, there was only so much eye contact she could handle with her stomach turning into a rollercoaster.  
  


Sophie swallowed. He could feel all of her emotions shifting like cogs. She just hoped it was too complex that even he couldn’t piece it together. She’d  _ die  _ if he realized what she was thinking about.  
  


Then again, the signs pointed to him being on the same train of thought. . .  
  


“Feeling a little fluttery, there, Foster?”  
  


Sophie bit her tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”  
  


Keefe chuckled, eyebrows knit and slanted. His eyes inquisitively seeked her face when the corners of his mouth twitched quickly. “Don’t ruin it?” he inquired. “What would I be ruining?”   
  


When Sophie didn’t answer and resorted to turning redder than a beet, Keefe looked her up and down. His voice was half-poking, half-serious as he asked, “Foster, do you like this?”  
  


Sophie tried not to roll her eyes, knowing it would give away how nervous she was. “I never said I  _ didn’t _ like it.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows plucked up. “So, you  _ do _ ?”  
  


Sophie desperately avoided eye contact, lasering in on the collar of his shirt. “I also never said that.”  
  


Keefe gave a tiny laugh at her response, shaking his head. He brushed some of the hair off his forehead, lifting a corner of his lip.   
  


“Well, that’s a shame. I kind of like it.”  
  


Sophie’s head whirled as he lifted his hand to her face and plucked a single finger underneath her chin. He didn’t force her head in his direction, but the pressure from the pad of his finger against the underside of her jaw was enough for her to know that he wanted her to look at him.

  
Sophie’s body vibrated with energy at the touch. A blush spread from her toes to her head.  
  


“No, don’t look away. Let me see.”  
  


“See what?” Sophie asked, a slight whine in her voice as she tried her best to shy away from his touch. The smallest brush of his thumb on her chin made fireworks tingle down her back. Sophie prayed he didn’t notice.  
  


Keefe didn’t smile or show much of any clear emotion as he spoke - but he did look serious. “I want to look you in the eyes.” He tilted his head gently as his mouth quirked in the corner, something warm flooding the striking blue of his stare. “You get really squirmy about that, did you know that?”  
  


His voice was low and rumbling, and again that strong sincerity seeped in which made Sophie turn redder than a fire hydrant.  
  


When Sophie was unable to find a way to answer, Keefe mumbled, “I think you’re afraid of people looking too long. I think you’re afraid that people are going to find a way to spot flaws if they look too hard.”  
  


Sophie tried to distract him from her clearly-red face. “Wow, way to expose me like that.” It didn’t have as much of a teasing punch as she would have liked - in fact, it probably had more shiver to it than anything.  
  


“I’m serious, Sophie.” When she made a face, he added, “I can feel that doubt.”  
  


“I mean, I would hope so. You’re an Empath.”  
  


Keefe’s face cracked into a smile as he laughed, and Sophie couldn’t stop herself from snorting out a few of her own giggles. “Don’t try to diverge the topic, Foster.”  
  


“Afraid I’ll win?”   
  


Keefe’s smile melted into a smirk. “No, I think I’ll win this one. But I’ll give it to you; you’re getting pretty good at distractions.”  
  


“I learned from the best.”  
  


Keefe’s expression softened, a breathy puff of a laugh coming from his nose as his shoulders lifted. Keefe trailed the pad of his thumb up the side of Sophie’s jaw with his growing smile. She reminded herself to keep her heart rate steady when he slipped the rest of his hand around the side of her neck, near the pulse beneath her jaw.   
  


“I really like your eyes, Sophie,” Keefe murmured all of a sudden, making sure to hold them when he said it.  
  


Now of all times she wished she could control her blush. Sophie ignored the butterflies that flocked at the affectionate look painted on his face. Desperately, she switched her focus to his hand on her face. If she didn’t think too much about the way he was looking at her, there was a chance she wouldn’t have to confront it - maybe then she could just enjoy it.  
  


“Thanks,” she whispered.  
  


Sophie’s eyes fluttered as his thumb traced sensual circles over her cheek, briefly reaching up and tickling the start of her hairline beside her ear. Sophie sank into the touch almost too willingly, not minding that he was watching her so acutely (she struggled not to note the way his smile grew more delicate at her nuzzle).  
  


For once, Sophie wasn’t prepared to wake him up. It wasn’t simple, anymore. Keefe would have to endure heartache and loss and he’d have to suffer with the new weight on his shoulders. And they’d have to fight harder than ever to keep him safe from truly fulfilling his legacy with whatever new ability Lady Gisela had activated.  
  


She wished she had the power to turn back time. Go back to when they were younger, during that blissful period when she was first introduced to him. Everything had been confusing and she didn’t have all the pieces at that time, but they’d been safe from the many tragedies that the future would hold.  
  


Then again, there had been pain in the past, as well. Keefe hadn’t opened up to Sophie about anything at home, so she wouldn’t be able to aid him with that, even if she could rewind the clock.  
  


Sophie closed her eyes, sighing through her nose. Keefe continued his gentle caresses. Blood rushed to her cheeks at the gesture. Hopefully Keefe couldn’t feel the warmth on his palm.  
  


In that case, maybe she would just wish to stay in this moment. It wouldn’t be all that bad to relive it over and over, in Sophie’s opinion - just her and Keefe on a beachside swing for the rest of eternity. It sounded like a peaceful life. Fulfilling, even. She’d had enough adventure and mayhem to last her a lifetime; she would be satisfied to sit around with him for a few thousands years, completely undisturbed.  
  


Keefe’s hand fully encased her cheek and she held back a smile as she reopened her eyes. More heat rushed into her face as she cupped the outside of his hand with her own.  
  


There was that itching impulse to kiss him again. Not that it had ever gone away.  
  


Sophie’s intestines wriggled as she registered that it really  _ hadn’t _ gone away. The craving had been there throughout it all, tickling the back of her brain relentlessly. Which meant it wasn’t likely to go away on its own after this.   
  


Trying to convince herself it wasn’t there wasn’t satisfying the burn - it was only fueling it further every day, lighting another match and sealing her doom for whenever the blast would tear her apart.  
  


The look in Keefe’s eyes replayed in her head. She watched him shift his gaze down and then back up again.  
  


Sophie swallowed.  
  


. . .Once. She was going to do this once, and only once, and quickly. Then it would be over, and she could move forward without any distractions. She would purge him and the silly desires that came with him from her system.  
  


Sophie flicked her eyes into his, beginning to breathe heavily. Keefe must have noticed the way her heart kicked up a few notches, because his eyebrow quirked up on his forehead. Sophie didn’t know why, but she found herself admiring how absolutely dumb and dorky and beautiful he looked with that confused expression, sitting there waiting for Sophie to give him the key to what was making her sweat.  
  


Sophie’s focus lasered to the perfect crinkle in between his brows, the tiniest scrunch of his nose, the little valley at the corner of his mouth that made it look like Keefe was halfway to frowning. It was a perfectly neutral look, calm but longing. Willing and pursuing. And she loved it. So, so much.  
  


_ Wow _ .  
  


Their noses brushed and Sophie’s breath hitched. She hadn’t known she’d gotten  _ that _ close. There was no going back now.  
  


Sophie sent out a silent plea to the universe that Keefe wouldn't remember anything when he woke up when then their pupils aligned. Her blush became wild.  
  


It was unexpected to Sophie that Keefe hadn’t yet made any effort to object or flee. She was waiting for him to pull back. She was holding her breath, anticipating Keefe to scrunch his face up with confusion or disgust - or maybe both - and to turn tail and run.  
  


But he let her lean in.   
  


His eyes searched her mouth before they returned to her gaze, and Sophie’s heart skipped a beat in her chest.  
  


Sophie took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed in time with her exhale. She reminded herself that Keefe was asleep. This wasn’t really  _ Keefe _ , if she didn’t consider the technicalities.  
  


So, it didn’t matter that she was leaning in. It didn’t matter that her heart was chiming louder than a church bell. It didn’t matter that she had her eyes closed, holding her breath—  
  


“Foster?”  
  


Sophie’s eyes flew open. She froze. Alarmed that she’d gone that far, Sophie turned red.   
  


Sophie didn’t get to bumble out an apology, distracted by how Keefe hadn’t moved an inch. His body wasn't stiff. He didn’t look repelled, either, which dulled a couple of the sirens blaring in Sophie’s brain.   
  


No, what made her skin crawl was how  _ confused _ he looked; the blue of Keefe’s eyes were clouded and his eyebrows woven together. She’d rarely seen Keefe confused in her life — he usually tried to mask it and act like he knew everything there was to know.   
  


“Sorry,” she whispered, leaning back. Her face blazed redder than the sticky jam of the cookies.  
  


When Sophie swore Keefe’s face couldn’t scrunch anymore, it did. Keefe was so animated that Sophie almost didn’t need to ask what was up.   
  


“What? Sorry for what?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why are you. . . ?”  
  


Keefe had lifted his hand to swirl his finger in order to gesture to the porch when he froze. His eyes blossomed wide. “Oh,” he murmured.  
  


“Oh?” Sophie prodded, not quite understanding. Her eyebrow slanted.  
  


Keefe’s hand dropped. His eyes closed as he ran a hand down his face, muttering something.  
  


“Keefe—”  
  


He abruptly rose from the swing, walking to pace the length of the porch.  
  


Sophie’s eyes followed him as he made his way to and fro, hands running down his face repeatedly. He shook his head and mumbled things and if Sophie hadn’t been freaking out in her own way, she’d have been comparing Keefe to some dramatic character from a human cartoon. However, Sophie was aware that if they  _ were _ in a cartoon, Keefe would have already worn a path through the floorboards of the porch from his pacing.  
  


Sophie rose cautiously from the swing, like she’d spook Keefe if she made any sudden movements. In her defense, he  _ was _ acting like a caged animal.  
  


Or like someone about to have an anxiety attack.  
  


“Keefe?” Sophie called again. He hadn’t done anything near this the initial time they’d been on the swing, so Sophie couldn’t begin to decipher what had triggered him. Though, to be fair, the first time they’d done this, Fitz had been there to interrupt them. And Sophie definitely hadn’t tried to kiss Keefe.  
  


Sophie’s body lit like a match. Acid that pooled in her stomach -  _ undoubtedly _ a reflex of the embarrassment. She crossed her arms over her chest.  
  


That was when Keefe stopped pacing. He turned to face her, like he remembered she was there. He probably had forgotten about her presence, with how lost in thought he’d been, and her sudden flare of emotion had caught his attention.  
  


He did a once-over. “You’re. . . not supposed to be here.”  
  


Sophie blinked. Her shame burned brighter. Her face blazed hot as a candle - yet, no part of her felt fluttery like she usually did when she blushed. Instead, pure regret flared inside of her.  
  


She shouldn't have done that. Or  _ tried _ to, even. She shouldn’t have let herself think about it. Especially not when she was in the middle of a very crucial task. This would determine Keefe’s survival, yet she was. . . What? Worrying about boys?  
  


Worse yet, she’d begun to think of Keefe because of  _ Fitz _ , hadn’t she? What was she doing? She’d nearly  _ kissed _ him. She’d nearly jammed her mouth over her friend’s and over  _ what _ ? A bruised heart?  
  


She couldn’t do that to Keefe. She couldn’t make him a rebound. She couldn’t put him in that position.  
  


It wasn’t fair.  
  


“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”  
  


“I know you’re sorry, Foster, but you can’t just. . .” He ran a hand down his face, his exhale shaky enough to make his ribs vibrate. “You could have been lost. My mind could have drug you down. It nearly  _ did _ . I wouldn’t ever be able to live with myself if something like that happened to you  _ because _ of me, you know that, right? What would we do if—”  
  


Sophie’s breath hitched. Her ears started ringing. Keefe’s voice faded, despite the fact that he continued to talk, but Sophie couldn’t focus enough to hear whatever it was that he had to say.  
  


They were  _ not _ talking about the same thing.

  
“—And what would be the  _ point _ ? I—” Keefe paused. He peered down at his hands. He stared for a solid eight seconds before uttering, “I’m. . . Asleep. This is. . . Oh.”  
  


Sophie’s back snapped ramrod. “What?” Her mouth was so dry that it came out in a croak. “Wait, do you remember everything? Are you. . . Are you, like, awake now? You know what happened?”  
  


Keefe tore a hand through his hair. Sophie cringed at it, half expecting hair to flutter to the ground in golden clumps at the force he’d used to rake his hand through his scalp.   
  


The last way she expected him to respond to it was to laugh sourly. “I mean, yeah. Can’t really forget something like that,” he muttered.  
  


The bitterness in his voice didn’t begin to mask the way it shook.  
  


Sophie swallowed. What next? She guessed she should try to distract him with something positive, unsure of what else there was to say or do.  
  


There was no way she was just going to leave his head and let everyone bombard him with questions. She wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him, then. Elwin would demand an inspection and Fitz and Tam would ask too many questions and Mr. Forkle would want to create some plan and while it was all inevitable, she needed to hold it out for some time.  
  


“Your Mom hasn’t shown up, though, and that’s good.” Sophie nearly stopped herself from adding, "hasn’t shown up  _ yet _ ."  
  


Lady Gisela’s absence and lack of any contact whatsoever really  _ was  _ a surprise to Sophie. She assumed Gisela would be tailing Keefe, keeping tabs on his recovery so that the moment he awoke, she could reclaim him. Sophie had been shocked Gisela had been persuaded into letting Sophie take Keefe back to the Healing Center, in the first place. Even with her son’s sweaty, crumpled, unconscious form twitching on the dusty floor of Loamnore, Gisela had tried to fight the truth.  
  


Yet, to this day, Gisela had remained totally silent.  
  


Keefe’s face scrunched up. “Shown up?” he repeated.  
  


Sophie nodded. “To. . . I don’t know, see how you’re doing, yeah.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow lifted. His face resembled a question mark. “I’m. . . Asleep. Not dying. Have I been out long? How many minutes has it been?”  
  


Sophie couldn’t hold back the tilt that her head did. Minutes? Did he think he’d been out for minutes? And he wasn’t sleeping when he couldn’t wake himself up, when he’d been  _ living in an alternate reality _ .  
  


Sophie’s face softened when it clicked.   
  


He thought he was still in Loamnore. He thought he had passed out on the floor for a few minutes and that Sophie had freaked and come inside his mind to fish him back out.  
  


_ Oh _ .  
  


Sophie squeaked, “Not minutes,” when Keefe waved a hand, prodding her to answer him.  
  


“Um.” He must have caught on to the looming cloud of dread that hung over her, because the muscles in his throat tightened. “Okay. . . Then, this is the part where I ask ‘how many hours’ and it stops there, yeah?”  
  


Sophie’d only heard his voice so frail a few times in her life. She never liked hearing the tone return. It sounded as delicate as broken glass.   
  


She shook her head at him, hating how his face clouded with alarm. She knew it was better to get it over with. She couldn’t leave him in the dark, because this was the reality he had to come back to face and Sophie needed to prepare him for it.  
  


She’d healed Prentice’s mind.   
  


She could heal Keefe.  
  


“Foster?”  
  


Sophie swallowed. “It. . .” She wished her brain could craft a comfort speech of some sort to lessen the blow, but all that she managed to whisper was, “Weeks.”  
  


Keefe’s jaw snapped shut.   
  


Sophie’s heart felt like it was being flattened as she watched his lip sink in a millimeter. He was already chewing nervously.  _ This is going to be rough _ .  
  


“I’m sorry, it’s been weeks, Keefe. You’re. . . Not in Loamnore anymore. You passed out and you started hyperventilating and your eyes wouldn’t shut, so I carried you out and I brought you to Elwin. Your Mom. . . She knows you’re here, but like I said before, she hasn’t come anywhere near you, so you’re safe. I promise.”  
  


“I’m in Foxfire right now?”  
  


Sophie’s eyes fluttered. She nodded, surprised at how quickly he seemed to adjust to it. Or maybe he was just shocked and blurting out questions so that he could get all the answers. Which she didn’t blame him for.   
  


“In the Healing Center. You entered a. . . State of comatose after Tam did the. . . Thing. You tried to fight the transformation so your mind retaliated and hid you away.” Her voice cracked.  
  


Sophie had barely caught herself before she said the word ‘change’. That word had been forever ruined. Along with ‘embrace’.  
  


Keefe buried his face in his hands. “And those dreams. . .”  
  


“All a part of it,” Sophie said. “Mr. Forkle said it was a way of your brain shielding itself—”  
  


His face peeked out from behind his hands. “Forkle’s here?”  
  


Sophie nodded. “I hailed him a little while ago. You started, um, seizing on the bed and I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to Elwin, and after he checked over you he wasn’t sure, either. But he did say that the activity looked similar to what happened with Fitz and my echoes, so we all guessed that it was whatever happened in your head with the shadowflux.” The lump in Sophie’s throat choked her. She crossed her arms, holding on to her elbows. “Elwin and I gave you some medicine, Mr. Forkle came over with Tam and Fitz, Tam checked your shadow balance and. . . I entered your dreamscape.”  
  


Sophie lifted a hand to gesture to the area around them, finding that she was shaking. Her wrist wobbled even as she curled her arms around herself again.  
  


Keefe didn’t quite understand everything, so Sophie went into more detail for him, filling in the blanks when he told her that something was unclear. Once she finished explaining the dream concept to him and how she’d had to wake him up before he lost himself, Keefe grew silent. Sophie and him stood in the silence, wind whisking around their bodies.  
  


Sophie had to adjust strands of her hair a couple times, flicking and tucking it out of her face so that she could watch him without obstruction. Keefe had his gaze trained on the floor, so it took Sophie a second to notice the heat that had crept to his cheeks.  
  


Was he. . . Blushing? Of all things?  
  


Keefe’s gaze fluttered up as he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. Being able to see his face clearly confirmed to Sophie that he  _ had _ turned red.  
  


But what for? She rarely ever saw Keefe ruffled. What could have him feeling unsettled?  
  


Keefe sucked in a rather large breath, turning away from her to pace. He repeated the walk so many times that Sophie swore her eyes were crossed, until he finally found the strength inside him to stop.   
  


He turned to look at her. Sophie was shocked to find his eyes wide, breathing a little heavy. He looked spooked. Then he blinked, the shape of his eyes shrinking back to their normal size while he ran another hand through his hair. She watched him steady his breathing, swallowing. His eyebrows scrunched.   
  


“You. . .” Keefe closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. He pointed a finger at her. It wasn’t firm or accusing, but soft, in a way. Maybe even uncertain. “You were. . . You were going to kiss me. Weren’t you?”  
  


Sophie’s eyes widened.  
  


Oh. Oh,  _ no _ , why this of all things?! He could have asked her about anything! He could have remembered  _ anything  _ else, yet. . .  
  


Well, that explained the colour of his face and the tips of his ears.  
  


Once the shame of it sunk in, she bashfully turned away from him, cheeks turning red. “What? No. Why would you. . .” She brushed her hair behind her ears nervously, then quickly flicked the strands forward again once she realized how exposed it made her feel. “No, I wasn’t going to —  _ No _ , I just — I was. . .” Sophie couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have a way to. It was impossible to give an excuse, because it had been all too clear what Sophie had been trying to do.  
  


And Keefe caught her.  
  


Sophie twined her fingers together, staring out at the ocean. She fumbled with her hands, trying to distract herself from the burning of Keefe’s stare. Sophie could see him in her peripheral vision, watching her with some unwavering gaze.  
  


He could have asked  _ anything _ . He could have  _ ignored _ it.   
  


But no.  
  


“Foster,” Keefe beckoned.  
  


No, no she wasn’t going to look. She was going to remain staring out at the crashing waves, begging the universe that the splashing and whooshing of the water would drown out her thunderous heartbeat. It was so loud that Sophie was sure Keefe could hear it from where he was standing.  
  


“Sophie.”  
  


_ Don’t look. Don’t you dare look _ .  
  


Sophie’s vision watered, turning blurry. Her eyes stung with tears and she tried to blink them away before Keefe noticed.  
  


_ Why am I crying?   
  
_

And why did she feel so. . . rejected?  
  


Her chest burned, choking her up. A hiccup escaped past her lips. Sophie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Why, oh  _ why _ , did this have to happen?  _ Why had she done that _ ? Keefe was her friend and she’d pushed his boundaries while he was in  _ critical  _ condition, nonetheless.   
  


What level of idiot did it take to do something of that magnitude? Apparently the answer was Sophie Foster.  
  


Sophie had to remind herself to breathe. Now was not the time for scolding. She could scold herself later.   
  


After a few calming breaths, she prepared to swallow her pride. It couldn’t get any more awkward than it already was, so. . .   
  


She looked to where Keefe stood. He hadn’t moved an inch, but somehow she felt suffocated, like there was no escape. His face itself said,  _ We need to talk about this _ .  
  


“Foster,” he whispered.  
  


She bit the inside of her lip. The tears welled up against her eyes again, but no, she couldn’t cry. Now wasn’t the time for tears. Now was the time to confront her issue and be brave.  
  


There was no way she could leave his head like this to avoid it, anyway. Not anymore. Then he’d be awake and they wouldn’t have time to talk because everyone would be all over Keefe and life would be back to ticking on a clock again.  
  


Sophie had opened a wound — whether her own or Keefe’s, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. She had to fix it.  
  


Sophie wrapped her arms around herself. She choked on the first answer she attempted to release. An uncomfortable squeak warped from her chest. Sophie clenched her jaw, building up some response in her head before she tried again.  
  


“. . .Is it that bad that I wanted to?” she prodded. Her voice was barely a whisper. She hoped it would get drowned out by the waves. “Would it have been that terrible?”  
  


A shiver of embarrassment whisked through her. It was a scary thing to ask, given it confirmed what she’d been trying to do. Not that she could have made a good enough case to drive Keefe away from the truth, even if she hadn’t outright said it, but. . .  
  


What did he think of her? Did he think she was gross? Or vile? Or manipulative? She probably was. Hell, she’d already done this once. She’d messed up with Dex and, ugh,  _ what had she been thinking _ ? Did she really want to repeat that awkward process?

  
Sophie didn’t know she was talking until the words resonated in her ears.  
  


“I feel like I’m. . . I don’t know. Dirty? For. . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart twisted in her chest. “I don’t know what’s happening. I didn’t think I could. . . Even imagine something like. . . That. . . With you. Especially not so soon after everything with─” She stopped. Sophie tore a hand through her hair. “And now I’m afraid I’m just throwing myself on you because I’m hurting, and there’s not really something there, and I─”  
  


“Sophie,” Keefe called, interrupting her. “Take a deep breath.”  
  


Sophie would have argued, had he not looked so serious. The fact that he used her real name, too, made her pause.  
  


_ Deep breath in. Deep breath out _ .  
  


When she finished, she whispered, “I’m afraid I’m trying to make you, like, a rebound. Okay?  _ That’s _ what I’m scared I’m doing.”  
  


Keefe seemed like he was trying very hard to understand so that he didn’t have to ask for clarification. He looked slightly sheepish when he scuffed his shoe on the floor, murmuring, “. . .Rebound?”  
  


Sophie was tempted to huff out her frustrations, but she reminded herself it wasn’t Keefe’s fault that he didn't understand the term that humans commonly used. She’d just have to swallow her pride like a pill and grasp for the words to make him understand.   
  


“Like. . . It’s a period after a stress in a relationship. . .” She cringed, hoping she wasn’t going too far with mentioning it so bluntly. She was already aware that the change in Fitz and her dynamic had upset Keefe in some way, so Sophie felt like she was on eggshells, trying to save him any further discomfort.  
  


He’d been through enough because of her.  
  


“By stress, I mean a break, usually. And after that, there’s a thing where you can start to . . feel stuff for another person that isn’t really there. It’s because you're really emotionally vulnerable, so you can take any act of affection and twist it in your head to something that isn’t really there. It’s meant to distract you.”  
  


Keefe ducked his chin slower than drizzling, dripping syrup. Then his head rose back up again and he was nodding slowly. “So, what?” Keefe prompted. “You think you might feel something with. . . This?”  
  


Sophie didn’t miss how he avoided the word ‘us’.   
  


Sophie’s blush could probably burn blisters onto her cheeks. “I think,” she mumbled weakly. She added an unstable shrug. Her cheeks burned brighter than the Empire State at night. “But I guess I’m not the Empath.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes peeled open wider.  
  


Sophie rubbed her elbow. Perhaps she should have chosen different wording. The more she toiled over it, the more she realized it sounded like she was asking him to finish the puzzle for her.   
  


Which sounded ominous.  


And a little exciting.   
  


And also I’m-so-scared-I-could-vomit-worthy.  
  


Sophie released a shaky exhale, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. This was. . . All too much. She knew she should try to focus on something else, but she couldn’t backtrack. Not now. It was too late.  
  


Sophie didn’t notice Keefe had moved towards her until the toes of his boots were in her line of sight. Sophie scraped up the courage to look at him.   
  


She mumbled, miserably, “You’re not uncomfortable with me now?”  
  


To her surprise, Keefe’s mouth twitched with a smile. “See that seems to be my issue. Regardless of anything you say or do, I’m never uncomfortable with you. If anything, it makes me. . .” Keefe trailed off, and Sophie briefly wondered if that was the end of his sentence. Until he completed it with, “Closer to you.”  
  


Keefe didn’t try to mask the look of wonder in his eyes like he was admiring her. Sophie’s skin prickled with goosebumps.  
  


Keefe cleared his throat. “Foster?”  
  


“Yeah?”  
  


“That feeling you were talking to me about: you remember it? The one on the beach?”  
  


“I’ve felt it more than at the beach,” Sophie blurted, instantly wishing she could suck the words back.  
  


“That’s okay,” Keefe promised, not teasing her for the blush that bloomed, like she would have guessed. Instead he implored, “Cause guess what?”  
  


Keefe’s hands shook as he slipped his hands into hers. His mind and the dream mimicked Sophie’s enhancing and a rush of power flooded into their veins, making Sophie shiver. She knew it wasn’t real, but it still made her feel more. . . Connected to him. Like it was strengthening their bond.  
  


“What?”  
  


Keefe’s eyes never broke contact as he swallowed. Slowly, he confessed, “I feel the same thing with you.”   
  


Sophie sucked in a sharp breath. Keefe made a tiny nervous shrug motion, as if that would ever lessen the blow.  
  


Oh, that was. . . An  _ amazing _ answer.   
  


But before she could let the euphoria float her heart away like a balloon, she had to burst her own bubble; It was a  _ beautiful _ answer and it was all that she could hope for, to know that he was in the tangle of emotions with her, but. . . It was also world-changing. Those simple words affected everything.  
  


And she’d heard them before.  
  


“You do?” Sophie croaked. “You get the weird, like, the uh, the chest burning thing and the stomach, um, flip thing. . .”   
  


Keefe’s laughter made her miraculously stop rambling. His smile brightened his entire face. “You’re so smart, Foster, but sometimes you can be really oblivious.” He squeezed her hands, fingers still shaking. “Yeah, I do.”  
  


Sophie’s mind tried to talk her out of it. Tried to tell her that it was all her own dream, or that Keefe wasn’t actually aware, or that it was a huge misunderstanding, but his  _ eyes _ . She couldn't deny what she saw in them. Not any longer.   
  


He was being wholly serious. That was both relieving  _ and _ frightening.  
  


“Okay,” Sophie hedged. She exhaled. “So. . .”  
  


What next? What were they supposed to do, with that out in the open? Just because they were both caught in the web together didn’t mean they knew how to get out.  
  


“You’re still confused,” Keefe guessed.  
  


“I mean. . .” She still didn’t know if what she was feeling was, well, what she was really feeling. Sophie had always been pretty poor at interpreting her feelings, so who was to say that she wasn’t getting it all wrong? And what, then? What if she led him along? What if she led _ herself _ along?  
  


Why did feelings have to be so complicated?  
  


“You aren’t getting it wrong, Foster, okay?” Keefe assured gently. “You don’t have to worry about that.”  
  


“But how do you know that?”  
  


Keefe’s expression looked a little dry. And also smug. “Empath.”  
  


Oh.  _ Oh _ , he  _ knew _ . He’d always known. How long had it been going on?  
  


Sophie’s face became red. “. . .And you didn’t tell me.”

  
Keefe laughed. “You expected me to tell you that?”  
  


“You kinda kept it from me!” Sophie argued, embarrassment burning white-hot. “You knew the whole time. You  _ knew the whole time -  _ and I didn’t.”  
  


“I did,” Keefe concurred, “but just because I knew didn’t mean it was my place to tell you.”  
  


Sophie’s nose crinkled. Keefe smiled.  
  


“It’s like your telepathy law thing, Foster. It’d seem pretty violating for me to. . . Throw that all out there, since you’ve never really given me permission to read your feelings.”  
  


“Yeah, but you can’t control that.”  
  


“But I can control whether or not I choose to prod and snoop.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I haven’t always been great with that. I’ve been. . . Pretty pushy, at times. But I had a moment where I realized it wasn’t my place to do that to you. Because even if we have feelings, there are times when those feelings aren’t good for us. Or we just don’t want them. So we make the decision to ignore them.”  
  


Sophie’s stomach clamped painfully. “I wasn’t. . .” She shook her head. “Keefe, I wasn’t thinking they were bad. I don’t think  _ you’re _ bad. I didn’t mean to ignore them, I didn’t even know they were there.”  
  


“No, no!” Keefe rushed. “I get it. I know that. But, even so. . .” He stared down at their hands, avoiding looking her in the eyes. “First, you didn’t need that pressure. You have a lot going on already. Second. . . I thought it would really be better if you just. . . never knew.”  
  


Sophie stepped one foot closer, if that was even possible. “Why would that be better?”  
  


“I don’t know,” he mumbled. He paired it with a roll of his shoulders. “I’m not the best influence.”  
  


Sophie frowned. “Maybe not _ always _ , but, that’s why we work. We balance each other.”  
  


“That doesn’t sound very ideal.”  
  


“It’s not  _ supposed _ to be ideal.” She paused momentarily. Sophie bit the inside of her cheek, gathering the words in her head for a second to ponder if she really wanted to let them spill. She decided, “I know you’ve been raised to think that relationships have to be these perfect things, with perfect genetics, and perfect kids, and perfect lives, and perfect matches, but. . . That’s not realistic. That’s not how people work. We aren’t meant to break our backs looking for someone who’s  _ perfect _ .”  
  


“I get that, but Foster, you deserve. . .” His sigh sounded more sad than anything. “You deserve a lot. You don’t think that you do, so you’ll settle for anything.”  
  


“I’m not settling for something, Keefe. My feelings aren’t settling for something.” She gripped his hand tighter. “You aren’t below me.”  
  


Keefe’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her. Sophie swore she continued to grow more pink with every passing minute. It was hard to keep her blush at bay, with how casually they were talking about. . . That.  
  


If they were both really on the same page. It was all in his head - and technically her own, so there remained that stupid, nagging feeling underneath her skin that  _ maybe _ she was misinterpreting the whole thing. Or  _ maybe _ Keefe was reading himself or her wrong.  
  


Sophie nibbled on her cheek.   
  


There was always one way she could test it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a break before we continue on! or don't. it's up to you :) either way, see you in the next half!


	15. Chapter 14 (Pt. 2)

“Keefe?”  
  


Sophie didn’t know she’d spoken until Keefe replied. “Yeah?”  
  


“Can we try something?”  
  


Keefe’s confusion sunk his eyebrows low on his forehead. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.”  
  


Sophie ignored the chill that ran down her back. She nodded, taking it in.  
  


This was happening.  
  


Sohie tried not to fidget or shake, hoping her false confidence would make Keefe seem less-sure of his reading of her (which was definitely flaming red with her worry) as she nudged herself an inch back from him just so she wasn’t too close. She still needed to be able to breathe while going through with it. And she didn’t want to knock heads.  
  


This was her choice, she reminded herself as Keefe tore his eyes over her. Keefe wasn’t going to take those steps. She had to make them.  _ Choose _ them.  
  


Sophie was already in front of him, however. The physical steps had been taken, so all that left was the buildup and - as stressful as it was - the act itself.  
  


But Sophie couldn’t just throw herself in. That sounded. . . Wrong to her. Like she was meant to cherish the process with him. She didn’t want to be hasty with it, even if her stomach was dying to get it over with.  
  


Unsure of what was supposed to come next, Sophie decided to take her time soaking him in.  
  


If she did this, he was never going to look at her the same again. He’d never wonder what it felt like to be kissed, or imagine what her mouth would be like, layered against his, because he’d  _ know _ . Keefe would have to fall asleep at night knowing that their lips had met and that he knew exactly what she felt like.  
  


She’d be the keeper of his first kiss. She would be the one he thought of and mentioned whenever he’d get asked who he shared his first kiss with.  
  


Not only that, but  _ Keefe _ had that power over Sophie, too.   
  


Though she’d already had her first kiss, it wouldn’t discourage her mind from thinking about her second one.Thinking about  _ him _ . She’d be plagued with thoughts about it everytime she so much as glanced at his stupid face. (But if she was being fair, she already  _ was _ plagued with imagining what it would be like, how he’d feel, how he’d react.)  
  


She couldn’t seriously be considering it. Could she? After the whole fiasco with Dex. . .  
  


Sophie stopped. No, that had (shockingly) fixed everything. In spite of it beginning rocky, it’d cleared any stuffy vibes from the air that surrounded their friendship. They were closer and more comfortable as friends.  
  


Sophie had to do it. No matter how knee-weakening it was, throwing herself into the deep end lacking any and all knowledge on how to swim. . . This was something they needed.  
  


Sophie closed her eyes. She exhaled slowly. Over and done with: that was what she was going to do. Move fast and get it over and done with.  
  


Still, Sophie couldn’t get her hands to lift at anything faster than glacial. She forced herself to ignore the way Keefe’s muscle tensed underneath her fingers when she met his shoulder. She bit her lip.  
  


Okay. One part over.  
  


Sophie marvelled at how different he felt beneath her palms when she had her eyes closed. She could trace the broad width of his shoulders and feel the dents of muscle in his biceps and dip in the groove of his collarbone and ─  _ No, Sophie, that’s not what you’re here for _ . She didn’t have to agonize over every perfect detail of him.  
  


She swore her cheeks were hotter than the sun beating down on the porch. She had to get control over her thoughts. Sophie was the one creating them and yet  _ she _ was getting embarrassed by their existence.  
  


Had things like that always been inside her head? They had to have been; things like that didn’t just spring out of thin air. She must have subconsciously fought them off so she wouldn’t have to deal with them.  
  


Or maybe even a little consciously. . .  
  


The more Sophie tried to concentrate on less remarkable things, the more her heart quickened. It seemed determined to pick a fight with her ribcage as its panicked thumbs mercilessly clobbered the bone.   
  


But Sophie truly couldn’t help it. The more she tried to calm herself the more frantic she grew.   
  


Sophie tore her eyes open, breathing shakily. She took her hands off his shoulders.  
  


She couldn’t do it. There were so many things that could go wrong that it wasn’t funny in the slightest.   
  


What if she was really,  _ really _ bad at it? Would he laugh? Would he run? Would he cringe? What if he would never be able to look at her the same? What if he  _ hated _ her?  
  


Keefe, sensing her downwards spiral into panic, grabbed her shoulders. “Hey, hey. Let’s take a breather. We don’t want to get into a panic frenzy, there-”  
  


She cut him off. “No.”   
  


Keefe shut his mouth.   
  


“I’m not panicking.”  
  


Keefe arched a suspicious eyebrow.   
  


Sophie sighed. “Not panicking  _ now _ .”  
  


Keefe inclined his chin. Then he looked her up and down like he was checking her for injuries. His eyes softened. As if he’d figured out something unspoken, he tenderly promised, “You don’t have to do this.”  
  


“No, I. . .” Her stomach cramped. “I  _ do _ ,” she whispered.   
  


He didn’t understand; it was more than a choice, it was a necessity. She wouldn’t be able to fit the puzzle pieces together without it, no matter how  _ awkward _ of a test it was. She’d never been skilled with feelings - and this was the one way she knew was an effective way to figure them out. Even if it was painfully awkward.  
  


But she couldn’t bring herself to take the leap. What if the ravine was too wide? What if she didn’t make it to the other side?  
  


Sophie was risking _ everything _ . Because if she lost Keefe, she  _ would _ lose everything.  _ He _ was everything to her - he always had been.  
  


Sophie felt like she was on the highest point of the rollercoaster - the scary, yet somehow electrifying pause hundreds of feet in the air where you held your breath, waiting for the drop. But in order for the drop to happen, she had to make a move.   
  


Which was so much easier said than done.  
  


A frustrated sigh expelled from Sophie. She tried to mask her shaking hands with her annoyance. “Can you just do it? Please?” she whined. She wasn’t able to take that step on her own. Not when it risked so much.  
  


“Sophie, if you don’t want to, then just don’t do it. No, I’m serious,” he said, when she started shaking her head, “We don’t have to do this! You can walk away.”  
  


“No, Keefe, I. . .” Her belly tumbled with butterflies as she said, “I want to. That’s the issue. I  _ want _ to, so can you just. . .”  
  


Keefe looked like he was holding his breath. His pupils were blown a little wide in shock, too, and Sophie had to remind herself to keep whatever composure she was still clinging to as she finished, “Can you do it?”  
  


Keefe took a moment to process her words. He searched her eyes for some time before nibbling on the inside of his lip. She’d never seen him look that stressed. Or maybe stressed wasn’t the correct word - Sophie just knew he looked like he’d been assigned a ground-shaking responsibility. “Okay.”  
  


The tiny crack in his voice made Sophie’s blush hotter.   
  


Keefe seemed to notice, but kept rambling. “I don’t know how to,” he quickly warned.  
  


Sophie shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t, either.”  
  


Keefe’s expression morphed into something dry. “Somehow I doubt that.”  
  


Sophie’s stomach flipped as she shyly defended, “What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrow clocked up on his forehead. “Pretty sure I remember Dex venting about how you were  _ not _ what made the kiss bad.” A moment passed before Sophie and Keefe both grimaced. “Okay, well, technically you  _ are _ what made it. . .” Keefe stopped. “You  _ know _ what I mean.”  
  


“Okay, but maybe that’s just Dex,” she offered.  
  


“Somehow I  _ really _ doubt that. You’re Sophie Foster: you don’t exactly have the reputation of being bad at stuff.”  
  


Sophie couldn’t manage to get anymore red. She bet she looked exactly like those blazing red rubber balls her school had used for kickball during recess.   
  


Sophie tried not to fidget, looking straight at him. “I won’t mind, Keefe,” she promised. Her voice came out more fragile than intended, but it seemed to put Keefe at ease, from the looks of how his shoulders untensed. It helped Sophie stop her nervous thumb-twiddling.  
  


“. . .Alright.” He sized her up after the mumble, probably determining what he was supposed to do next. Keefe’s hands maneuvered themselves awkwardly on her shoulders, trying to figure out where to best place them. Sophie blushed as he fumbled, never settling on a place to put them, only hovering and getting ever so close to touching her.   
  


Halfway through another try, he winced, pulling back. “Let me make this clear so I know we’re on the same page — you want me to  _ Sodex _ this?”  
  


Sophie glared. “Do  _ not _ call it that.”  
  


From the looks of Keefe’s recoiled expression, he knew she would push him into the ocean if she could. “Sorry. Want to make sure I’m not getting it wrong.”  
  


When Sophie’s narrowed eyebrows didn’t fully lift, Keefe continued, “I’m nervous. It was a bad joke.”  
  


The creases of Sophie’s face softened. “It’s. . . okay. I’m sorry, too.” Sophie bit her lip. “I shouldn’t be asking you to do this. _I’m_ the one who’s confused, not you.”   
  


Sophie wished she could rip out a few good eyelashes as she said, “I don’t want to take something so important away from you. You shouldn’t waste that on me–”  
  


“Waste that?” Keefe’s laugh sounded breathless. “Foster, I’d hardly call you being my first kiss a waste.”  
  


The instant it flew from his mouth, Keefe shied his face away. Sophie found herself doing the same. She stared at the floorboards and his boots and his hands, trying to steer clear of any thoughts that had to do with how close he was, or how she could hear and feel his breathing next to her head, or how Keefe’s face had bloomed red at his own words.  
  


Keefe’s words bounced around Sophie’s head.  _ I’d hardly call you being my first kiss a waste _ .   
  


Sophie’s brain was scrambling to try and decipher what the remark had meant, when Keefe decided to fill in the bubble for her.  
  


He breathed slowly. “You’re not really asking something  _ difficult _ of me here, okay? That’s. . . All I’m going to say.”  
  


Sophie swallowed. Maybe that meant he wanted to, then. Or maybe Keefe was confused like she was. Either way, it made Sophie feel closer to him.   
  


“Then we’re sure we have a deal? We’re really,  _ really _ doing this?”  
  


Sophie was unable to deny the little glimmer in his eyes. “If that’s what you want,” he rasped.  
  


“That’s what I want.”  
  


Keefe’s cheek sunk in as nibbled on it. “Okay.”  
  


Sophie held back her urge to rip out a few eyelashes when Keefe’s hand came into view beside her face. All too soon, his fingers were tracing up her jaw, triggering a new explosion of tingly fireworks and his gaze shifted to her mouth and he leaned closer—  
  


Sophie’s heart stuttered when their mouths sealed.  _ Oh _ . Oh. . . Wow. She didn’t have to wonder what it was like to kiss him anymore because she  _ knew _ . And it was. . . It was. . .  
  


A wave of goosebumps streaked across her skin Sophie’s eyes fluttered closed and they both moved against one another in sync. Sophie would’ve sighed into him had Keefe’s fingers not slid along her jaw, cupping her face. It only took them seconds to fall into a perfect rhythm, learning from the other what movements elicited positive reactions — and in Keefe’s case, what pace made Sophie’s emotions flip the most.   
  


This was  _ nothing _ compared to anything she’d ever experienced. She thought she’d known of the feeling of thrill before, but this was  _ otherworldly _ . Her senses felt overstimulated, lips buzzing while her fingertips and toes tingled from the intensity of the kiss. Her thoughts were forming faster than light and her mind felt like it was on _ fire _ , brimming with this untamed inferno that glided down her back and pooled in her stomach.  
  


It was incredibly,  _ stupidly _ cheesy and cliche and  _ perfect _ that it made Sophie tongue-tied. How could something as mundane as a mouth make the universe feel at balance?  
  


Sophie barely had the time to think of an answer to the question before Keefe pulled away. All too soon, the soft skin of his lips was gone, replaced by air and the two were left to gawk at each other with wide eyes and blazing cheeks.  
  


Sophie tried her best not to let her jaw slacken, but it proved too difficult.  
  


Their gazes swam with one another for awhile. Keefe looked redder than a sunset. Keefe’s voice turned raspy with his, “Sorry, too much?”  
  


Too much? No, too  _ little _ . Not enough.   
  


Sophie felt like she should’ve been panting for much-needed air as she whispered, “No.” She knew it had sounded dazed, but she couldn’t keep her voice from wavering or her pupils from dilating.  
  


She’d just kissed him. He’d just kissed  _ her _ . Sophie had just kissed  _ Keefe _ .  
  


And she liked it. She had really, genuinely liked it.  
  


“No?” Keefe repeated.  
  


Sophie’s lips parted and her mouth stumbled for words. Her throat ran dry as she tried to piece something together. What could she tell him? He already knew: she could see it in his face. The apples of his cheeks were blazing pink.  
  


Sophie couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad. Did he feel the same way, or had that kiss repulsed him?  
  


Sophie exhaled, shaking as she grabbed Keefe’s wrist. She pushed her thumb on the pulse, noting that his heart was racing just as fast - if not faster - than hers.   
  


Keefe’s eyebrows crushed together. He glued his eyes to Sophie’s finger on his beating pulse, dawning only reaching him after what felt like an eternity later. His face paled, which made Sophie’s stomach swim.  
  


“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t want to push you. But I know you won’t tell me unless I ask.”  
  


Keefe’s heartbeat faltered. “Foster. . .”  
  


“Did you like that?”  
  


Keefe’s eyes broadened with fright. Shock rang clear through his voice as he looked back down to his wrist. “Where did you learn–”  
  


“Just answer me.  _ Please _ ,” Sophie begged. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted his argument with a swift shake of her head. “Please don’t avoid it. I need to know.”  
  


Keefe’s throat tensed. Answering the question was probably the last thing he wanted to do, so Sophie didn’t blame him for his silence. But she was surprised when it ended.   
  


His voice was thick, almost so thick it sounded sticky, like his mouth had dried. Quietly, he confessed, “Yeah.” Keefe breathed, “I did.”  
  


Sophie waited for the three pulses: One for guilt, the shame of having lied. One for fear, that terrible nagging thought of being discovered. One for suspense, the part where you hold your breath and wait for the blowout. The confrontation.  
  


Only, Keefe’s heart never faltered. The rhythm didn’t jerk once, remaining punctual and constant. The three skipped heartbeats never came.   
  


Which meant he wasn’t lying. Keefe was telling the truth.  
  


Sophie’s exhale was so choppy she shivered.   
  


He had liked it. He’d liked kissing her.  
  


“Is there any possibility that you might. . .” She lifted her shaking shoulders. “That you might like me?” Her voice hushed with the words, and her cheeks flamed full of that familiar fiery sensation.   
  


Keefe blinked at her. Then his eyes travelled down until they lined up with her hand on his wrist. Keefe’s Adam’s apple wobbled with his swallow. Silently, he shifted his wrist from her grasp, slipping their hands together.   
  


Sophie knew Keefe’s heart wouldn’t skip three beats, but hers definitely did once he admitted, “There’s a possibility, yeah.”  
  


Sophie’s stomach flipped. She choked on her own words, making a tiny strangled noise, as she gasped, “You’re joking, right? You’re joking with me.”  
  


“No.” Keefe shook his head, looking like this was simultaneously the best and the worst thing he’d ever had to endure. “I’m not joking, Sophie.”  
  


Sophie made a sound. It came out more animal-like than anything, like she’d choked halfway through a whimper. “You’re serious?”  
  


“Okay, you constantly asking me if I’m telling the truth is not helping with the self-confidence, here.”  
  


“Sorry,” Sophie apologized, seeing how he winced, “but it’s. . . It’s a lot. In a good way,” she added, when he looked like he wanted to hide away in a hole. Sophie blurted, “Because I. . .” Her heart drowned out all other sound as she trailed off.  
  


She knew she sounded like a broken record when she tried to force, “I think I. . .” out, but she couldn’t pick more words from her tongue.  
  


Sophie closed her mouth. And opened it again. Keefe watched her battle herself silently, trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to say what she was thinking. Keefe’s eyebrows lifted, flickers of hope sparking to life in his gaze.  
  


But she couldn’t say that. Not when she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure.   
  


Which meant she needed to find out.  
  


Sophie slipped her fingers off his wrist. “Can we. . .” Sophie swallowed. “Can we try that again?” she blurted. “Just to make sure.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes widened. Then, to her shock (and horror), he started laughing. Sophie’s stomach turned bubbly as his laughter blended into his smirk, which rose warm and slow. “Just to make sure,” he repeated, a tiny scoff underneath his breath like an unconvinced chuckle.  
  


Sophie’s blush could probably rival the heat of an oven.   
  


“So what I’m hearing is the great Sophie Foster is admitting that she li-”  
  


“Be  _ quiet _ ,” Sophie muttered. She scooped his cheek into her palm, blushing at her own gesture while Keefe chuckled at her overheated face. They both leaned in at the same time, and before they met, Sophie managed to begin to giggle along with him. Their snorts and sounds made Sophie’s stomach sparkle, and it had Sophie's knees feeling weak.  
  


This time their noses didn’t clock, but they did jam their mouths together too hard. Sophie swore she got some teeth in there on accident, which only made them laugh more, bodies shaking from their nerves and the joy. It was awkward, in a way, but also. . . natural. Comforting. Like they’d been meant to end up connected since the beginning.  
  


And, wow, it made her so  _ euphoric _ . She was shivering so much and she couldn’t stop, but a part of her knew that her body wasn’t shaking solely because of the anxiety, but because of the happiness. All of the radiant, unfiltered  _ joy _ .  
  


Keefe breathed out, his exhale and smile briefly breaking their kiss as he slipped his free hand behind her neck, tilting his head to anew angle to press their mouths together.   
  


Sophie’s heart jumped in her chest, toes tingling from how he hadn’t hesitated. And, oh, they were still holding hands. He stood and kept this beautiful grip on it, running his thumb along her knuckles. Not to mention, the hand cupped around the nape of her neck was doing the same dance - he had that thumb swirling near the underside of her ear, tickling the beginning of her hairline.  
  


Sophie shivered when they parted for air. And, to her shameful delight, he returned. She did, too, letting them both readjust their faces to better drink the other in.  
  


She didn’t know what to do with her hands, still feeling horribly awkward and clumsy, so Sophie became thankful that he held onto one of her palms; but the other remained nervously hovering over his shoulder.  
  


Sophie knew she should be focusing on the kissing, but there were so many feelings that came with it that it was hard to keep her head screwed on straight.  
  


Warily, Sophie brushed her hand against his face. Keefe broke from her mouth with an inhale, and Sophie’s eyes popped open. Blood crept to her face. An apology formed on Sophie’s lips, hand fleeing from his cheek, but Keefe shook his head before she could speak.  
  


“No, it’s fine. No, stop,” he laughed, taking the hand around her neck and placing it over the one she had on his cheek, keeping it there. “I like it. Just surprised me.”  
  


Sophie willed her palm not to sweat as he smiled tenderly. There was a sparkle of his mischief when he asked, “You want to keep trying?”  
  


“I think so.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows launched up. His face seemed like it was flowing as he smirked. Part of him was being serious despite his facial expression and he sounded nervous when he checked, “Sure I’m not bad yet?”  
  


“ _ No _ ,” Sophie promised, breathless. She could stay like this forever. She  _ wanted _ to stay in that blissful second for the rest of her life, just her and him holding each other.   
  


There were harsh realities she would have to face if she let this moment end.  
  


Keefe must’ve sensed her mood drop because he squeezed their connected hands while dropping his forehead down to rest it against hers. Sophie sucked in a small breath, trying not to let the chill play up her spine like a xylophone.  
  


“Is this. . . Is this weird to you?” Sophie whispered. “That we’re not stopping?” She’d always thought a kiss with him would be brief. That they’d sit back after a peck and stare at each other for a few thousand years until they regained the strength to speak. But here they kept returning for more kisses, like they were testing the waters. Or prolonging the magic.  
  


“No.” He smiled. “No.” That look filled his face again, making him glow with this sense of awe. “Not unless you want to stop. We kinda. . . We should probably talk.”  
  


The thought of talking everything out was far too sobering. “I don’t want to talk right now.” She’d had her fill of difficult conversations. Right now she wanted him. She’d figure out the details later.

  
“Okay.” The silence between them didn’t last for long. They only got through a couple seconds of eye contact before Keefe asked, “This doesn’t seem real to you, either, does it?”  
  


“No,” she gasped, laughing. “I feel like  _ I’m  _ the one in a dream, now. I’m half afraid that I, like, got drug under or something.”  
  


Keefe’s expression turned gentler. “You’re safe, Foster,” he assured.  
  


Keefe said it so tenderly that Sophie would’ve had to take a step back to cover her face in any other situation. “Yeah,” she whispered.  
  


They both shared timid, soft smiles.   
  


“. . . And you’re  _ sure _ you don’t want to stop?”  
  


Sophie blushed harder, but nodded against his forehead. Keefe opened his mouth to respond, and from the looks of his quirked mouth, it was going to be teasing, so Sophie made the quick decision to push up on her toes. Sophie screwed her eyes closed as their mouths met, hoping that Keefe wouldn’t decide he was suddenly repulsed by the idea of kissing her as she threw all other worries out the window.  
  


He made a muffled sound at the contact, and his mouth twisted into hers with a smile, breaking the kiss with a crude pop. Sophie’s inside turned to goo as he hummed, but soon enough he returned.  
  


Why did she like kissing him so much? What was so great about it? Was that just what good kisses did to people, or was it Keefe that drew her in? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was both. Or perhaps it was neither. Either way, she didn't want it to stop.  
  


In the back of Sophie’s mind, disappointment fizzled as Keefe released her hand on his cheek, but it all but disappeared when she felt it slide over her waist. Their intertwined hands dropped, his claiming her opposite hip, and Sophie’s landing on his bicep.  
  


Keefe could probably feel the severity of her blush against his face, which was cradled into hers. The thought only made her knees more shaky.  
  


Distantly, Sophie became aware of a feeling blistering on the back of her skull: a warm hum from the mental connection between Keefe and her, like their minds were holding hands—which might’ve been the goofiest, sappiest thought she’d ever had.  
  


Being connected to his mind all the while was about the most intimate thing she had experienced. It was like she could feel everything he was feeling. Like she’d tapped into the emotional centre of his brain and she couldn’t unplug.   
  


Not that she would unplug, if she knew how to.  
  


Sophie wondered if this was what it felt like for Keefe to feel her. She could feel a whisk of his thrill. The chill crawling down his neck. The firecrackers snapping up his spine that made her melt. The ghost of something soft beneath his ribcage that Sophie  _ wanted _ to attribute to love, but thinking of that word made her face go up in flames. And she could feel a spike of something similar to. . .  
  


Sadness? Sophie couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that she felt, because Keefe had pulled away from her.   
  


Sophie’s eyes fluttered open, blinking as Keefe came into focus. She noticed her hand had somehow traveled into the back of his hair and she would have blushed if Keefe hadn’t sucked in a shaky breath.   
  


His eyes glittered. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”  
  


Panic gripped her lungs. “It’s okay,” Sophie soothed. “I’m sorry, did I—”  
  


Keefe sucked in another shaky breath. “No,” he called off. “No, it’s not you.” He stepped back, and they untied from one another’s embrace like shoe laces. An overwhelmed sob escaped and Keefe frantically waved his hand, trying to signal that it was nothing. But he had to reach up to wipe at his eyes for a second.  
  


“What’s wrong?” Sophie prodded. Alarm squeezed at her heart. Had she pushed too far?  
  


“Nothing bad,” Keefe promised, stepping closer and reclaiming her hand when he’d finished swiping at the water in his eyes. He managed to chuckle through the remaining tears. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to get all dramatic. I just. . . never thought that I’d get to do that.” He tentatively cupped her face, shrugging like it was nothing.  
  


Meanwhile, Sophie was fairly sure she’d melted into a puddle. The endearing smile that rose on his lips didn’t help much.  
  


“Don’t hit me with all that sap, Foster.”  
  


“Do you expect me not to after you say  _ that _ ?”  
  


Keefe’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what I expected,” Keefe mumbled gently and Sophie caught on that he wasn’t really referring to her reaction anymore. He brushed strands of hair behind her ears. “Didn’t expect you to feel so. . .”  
  


Sophie blushed. “Feel so. . .?”  
  


Keefe gave a watery chuckle. “You were happy,” he admitted. “You were. . . You were  _ happy _ .” He said it breathlessly, like he didn’t believe it. Like it was some fantastic thing that made his chest ache.  
  


Sophie swore all of her blood rushed to her face. She _ had _ been happy. Not disgusted or confused or bored - it hadn’t even felt dull.  
  


Maybe she didn’t know exactly what she felt for him, but she couldn’t deny that there was  _ something _ there. That kiss had proven it.  
  


It wasn’t that she liked him as a crush-type of affection; that sounded too dull and papery. Flimsy and thin. She knew this emotion he made her experience was. . . fortified. Solid. But saying that she  _ loved _ him seemed too brash, like she was hastily skipping ahead and leaping into territory she had no real experience with.  
  


They were somewhere in the middle, Sophie supposed. Somewhere special and crafted exclusively for the two of them.  
  


Sophie reached up and grabbed Keefe’s hand over her cheek, slipping it off. Keefe didn’t protest, but blinked and allowed her to move his hands.  
  


Sophie exhaled. Now that she had it sorted out, there was another obstacle - she needed to figure out how they were going to proceed.   
  


Sophie wished she didn’t have to smash their perfect bubble. It felt like they’d found a space in between time itself for the two of them to exist together, peacefully. And she had to end it. They had to sort things out, or they were destined for an ugly crash.  
  


“Keefe. About this. . .” She paused. How was she going to say what she needed to without sounding like a jerk?   
  


Sophie looked at his hands that she was holding in front of her. She stared at the bundle for a few good seconds before releasing him. Sophie crossed her arms over her chest as Keefe let his hands fall to his sides. “I’m trying to say this is. . . it’s really  _ fast _ . . .” Sophie trailed off.   
  


She nearly opened her mouth to try again, but silenced herself. She didn’t know if there was any way to clarify it further.  
  


Keefe didn’t seem to need her to, however.   
  


Her friend bobbed his head. “You’re healing, Foster, and that’s okay. I’ve got time. We don’t have to do anything right away. Or, hey, at all.” Sophie winced and Keefe made his own grimace to mirror her. “Sorry, I know that’s a touchy promise.”  
  


“It is,” Sophie disclosed. She rubbed her arms.  
  


“. . .How are you feeling about that?”  
  


Sophie sighed, pairing it with a shrug that she hoped would ease some of the pressure on her chest. It felt like someone had her pinned to the ground, jabbing their elbows into her ribs. “Honestly? . . . Disappointed. Sad. Hurt. A little bit angry.”   
  


Sophie exhaled through her nose slowly, tired. “I can’t help but feel like it would have worked out had all this stuff not happened. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he doesn’t care what everybody else is feeling and thinking. And I haven’t seen him happy since. . . I don’t know. And that  _ sucks _ . If he hadn’t been hit with that shadowflux and Alvar hadn’t. . .” She stopped. “I don’t know. He was getting better, Keefe. He was trying to change. The last time he had ever yelled at me was when his dad’s mind broke.”  
  


Sophie shook her head. She closed her eyes and began to inhale for five counts. Then she exhaled for six. Finally, she opened her eyes again to look at Keefe.   
  


“I can’t. . . I can’t lie to you and say I’m happy he and I are on a break. That’s not fair to anyone. I can’t say that I don’t miss that chance. I can’t say. . . that a part of me still isn’t holding on. And that sucks, I know. It’s an awful thing for me to do to you, but it’s. . . all going so fast.”  
  


“I know,” Keefe said, crossing his arms as he swallowed. He nodded to show his support. “I know that. And I’m fine with it. You need time and that’s  _ really _ understandable. Whatever happens. . . I’m glad I got to tell you.”  
  


Sophie watched him earnestly, nodding her head along to everything that he said. When he ended she was chewing on her lip. Her eyebrows were just along the line of furrowing, mind drifting off to another island of thought with Keefe’s final sentence. “Did you ever try to tell me before? Did I. . . Ignore you?”   
  


She fidgeted with her sleeves while she waited for an answer. It had never occurred to her until then that he might have tried to cue her in on his feelings earlier and because she’d been so infatuated with Fitz, she might not have noticed his endeavors.  
  


Sophie’s brain alone was still trying to catch up with everything that had happened. It felt like she had accidentally hit the forward button on the remote while watching a movie and she had scrambled to hit pause again, only to end up  _ way _ farther in the film. So, it was difficult for Sophie to imagine that Keefe had ever tried to make her aware of the way he felt for her.  
  


Keefe’s cheeks blossomed. He rolled his shoulders. “A couple times.” When he noticed the spike of panic and shame flash through Sophie’s chest he shook his head wildly. “No, no! It’s fine. Seriously, Foster. It’s  _ fine _ . You didn’t know. I was. . . confusing. You thought I was teasing you.”  
  


Sophie’s cheeks were burning brighter than his, brighter than the damned  _ sunset _ , as she muttered, “Keefe, you pushed me against a wall.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes shot open at the reply. A second blipped past before he erupted into a fit of laughter. It was such a _ stupidly _ adorable laugh, starting out with Keefe nearly choking on the dumb snort he’d released and Sophie found herself giggling along with him, cheeks burning.  
  


“Okay, yeah, you’re a bit of a dumbass,” Keefe conceded.  
  


“Hey,  _ I’m _ a bit of a dumbass? That’s. . . true, but what about _ you _ ? I almost kissed you when you were at Havenfield and—” Sophie snapped her mouth shut when Keefe started gaping at her.  
  


“Wait, no!” he pleaded, laughing when she tried to turn away from him to conceal her blush. “No, come on, you’ve gotta tell me now. Foster! You can’t just bring that up and then drop it.”

  
Sophie buried her hands in her face, wishing she could hide from him. It killed Sophie to know that her face was on fire and that he could feel every little wave of embarrassment that rolled off of her. She pulled her hands off her eyes, spilling out, “It was after London when you spent the night under Calla’s tree. And when you woke up —  _ look _ , I don’t know, Keefe, this is embarrassing! Stop looking at me like that!”  
  


Keefe looked so stupidly excited and proud that it made Sophie want to slap the grin off his face.   
  


Keefe noticed her frustration, too, laughing. “It’s cool, though! You wanted a piece of the action.” Keefe’s head cocked to the side, a shit-eating grin tilting his lips. Keefe reached both of his hands forward to try and playfully poke her sides. “Can’t say I blame you.”  
  


“You are a  _ child _ ,” Sophie scolded, though she was struggling not to smile as she swatted at Keefe’s prying hands.  
  


“Technically we’re both kids,” Keefe argued, chuckling when she rolled her eyes. “Now, you wanna continue on with those details, orrrr?” His eyes sparkled.  
  


“No,” Sophie said, shutting him down instantly.  
  


“Come on, we just kissed right here. Why is it so hard to tell me about a time you  _ wanted  _ to when we already  _ have _ ?”  
  


Sophie’s body heated up. “Uh, no, hang on,” Sophie paused, shaking her head. “That didn’t count.”  
  


Keefe’s eyebrows launched up. “What? Why would that not count?”  
  


“We’re in your head. These aren’t our actual bodies,” Sophie said, holding up her hands. “I’m technically a dream hologram. Same with you. Anything we’re feeling is just chemicals being sent to our brain, mimicking what we’d actually feel in the real world. So that didn’t count.”  
  


Keefe curved an elegant eyebrow. A catty smirk slowly rose on his lips, turning his face into something boyish and mischievous as he shoved his hands in his pockets casually. “Sooo. . . what? You're saying you want a reprise when we get out of here?”  
  


Sophie’s spine stiffened. “ _ No _ ,” she denied. “When did I say that?”  
  


“Didn’t have to,” Keefe said with a cool shrug. His eyes still held that sense of stupid, wild youth. “Your emotions say a lot on their own.”  
  


Sophie rolled her eyes dramatically, eliciting laughter from Keefe. “Fine, you know what, if this’ll get you off my case. . .” Sophie cringed, mentally preparing her grave. “You woke up and you were really sad - rightfully so. And I felt super bad and we were close and it felt really nice to get to help you out for once and then I gave you your present, you know, the cookies, and you like, lit up and started noticing that I. . . Keefe, it was just a soft moment, okay?! I wanted to kiss you, is it that bad?”  
  


“No!” Keefe assured. “It’s perfect. Seriously. You were on the right track — a Foster kiss would’ve made me feel better.”  
  


A sly wink following the comment had Sophie glaring, unamused. “Shut up.”  
  


Keefe’s smile remained on his face. “You know, I wanted to kiss you one time, too?”   
  


Sophie's eyes widened.  
  


“Yeah,” he pursued. “Well, technically a lot of times. I never would actually  _ do _ it because I didn’t want to put that pressure on you, but I thought about it. A lot.”  
  


Sophie’s face went nuclear. “Oh.”  
  


“Yeah,” Keefe agreed, his words seeming to finally settle in his head. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh.”  
  


“No, no,” Sophie rushed to start, seeing the way he was already avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t mean it like a  _ bad _ ‘oh.’ Just a little. . . surprised. Like. . . ‘oh’.”  
  


Keefe’s arms stayed sheepishly crossed over his chest despite the thin grin that crept over him. He slanted an eyebrow. “Surprised while thinking about my kissing? So, is that you admitting it was good? Is that what I’m hearing?”  
  


Sophie wasn’t sure she could handle much more of his teasing. Her entire body was most likely a different shade, by that point. “Maybe,” she mumbled.  
  


Sophie cut him off before he could say something, noticing the ways his eyes popped open. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not saying I want round two. Not. . . now. I. . . might want to wait for something like that again.”  
  


Sophie could barely breath after she admitted it. She waited for him to tease her again, but no poking comment followed. Just a sincere, “Trust me, I know how to wait.”  
  


Sophie’s eyebrows slotted together. “What does that mean?”  
  


He shrugged. “I’ve, you know, had feelings for you since you were, like, thirteen.” Keefe’s blush rivalled hers. “That’s a  _ really _ long time, now that I think about it.” He cleared his throat when she didn’t say anything, prompting him to continue. “Anyway, I mean that I’ve. . . been wanting something to happen for a really long time.”   
  


Keefe absent-mindedly scuffed the toe of his shoe against the planks, steering clear of as much eye contact as he could. “The fact that something even did happen after so long is  _ super _ insane to me. So, if more waiting means that there’s a  _ chance _ . . .” Only then did he click their gazes together.  
  


Sophie bit the inside of her lip. She knew she’d lost her stomach somewhere within that little speech, but she couldn’t pinpoint where. So, she accepted the tingly feeling and nodded. “Yeah,” was all she needed to say.  
  


“Okay,” Keefe concurred. And that was that.  
  


The silence that settled between the two was underwhelming and satisfyingly comfortable. Sophie expected there to be an itch to strike up conversation to fill the void, but it never came. So, they stood. They stood and thought.  
  


Sophie didn’t have a clue as to what was on Keefe’s mind, but she did know that he looked pretty content. Calm, too, which was something she hadn’t seen from him in awhile. It felt good to see him like that.  
  


It felt good to see  _ him _ . After weeks of slow, unchanging heartbeats and the dark silence of his mind, knowing that he was awake - knowing that she was going to bring him home. . . The feeling was indescribable.   
  


Sophie didn’t notice that her eyes had watered up until the corner of her eye itched with an escaping tear. Sophie blinked it away and brushed her hand over it. Keefe’s forehead creased.  
  


“Hey, why are you crying?”  
  


She shrugged. Sophie was still a little shaken to the fact that she was tearing up in the first place. “Nothing, it’s. . .” Sophie looked him up and down, almost in awe. “You’re awake. When I leave here, you’re going to be awake in that bed. I can talk to you again.”  
  


An eyebrow of Keefe’s arched up at that, but he didn’t choose to comment on it instantly. He fiddled with her hair a bit, running his fingers through the strands gently as if to make sure that he didn’t tug too hard and hurt her. Sometime later, he remarked, “You’ve cried a lot today, you know that?”  
  


Sophie laughed — genuinely _ laughed _ for what felt like the first time that day — and bobbed her head. “Yeah,” she agreed, “but it was for a good reason. I was worried for you.”  
  


“More like  _ terrified  _ for me.”  
  


“Shut up. I’m not that bad.”  
  


“You  _ are _ that bad, though. You’re the queen of worrying.” He trailed a finger over her cheek as he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He murmured, “You’re worrying right now. Don’t think I can’t feel that.”  
  


“I think I deserve to be able to worry about you after everything.”  
  


Keefe grimaced. “Yeah. . . Sorry.”  
  


“I know,” she assured.  
  


Keefe’s gaze stayed locked with hers for a few moments, and it felt. . . Natural. And comforting. Sophie could have probably stayed in that instant with him for a few lifetimes and remain fully satisfied.  
  


But they didn’t have a few lifetimes to waste. “We should probably get home. Everyone’s waiting for you.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes dulled. Sophie’s stomach shriveled, feeling guilty - reality was probably like a slap in the face to him, after everything he’d been through.  
  


Keefe appeared to need a bit more encouragement, so Sophie added, “I have some presents for you, too.”  
  


“You _ do _ ?”  
  


Keefe sounded so shocked that Sophie laughed. “Of course I do! It’s. . . It’s kinda a lot of cookies, but—”  
  


“Foster, are saying you bought me  _ cookies _ ?”  
  


Sophie only laughed harder. “Yes! Don’t make such a big deal out of it. I thought you’d like to try more, after last time.” She waved over to the swing like it said it all. “I got Oreos and sugar cookies and a few different brands of Keebler cookies I thought you might like. But these ones aren’t shaped like elves.”  
  


“Disappointing.”  
  


Sophie pretended to look appalled. “Well, excuse me. Next time you won’t get any cookies with that attitude.”  
  


Keefe made a scoff sound. “Oh, I don’t think I plan on there being a next time.”  
  


Sophie’s heart leapt a little. She’d temporarily forgotten the many promises he’d made within the last few dreams. Maybe he  _ was _ on the path to getting into less trouble. A gentle smile sprung the corners of her lips. “I like that plan,” she said.  
  


Keefe chuckled. “I know. You started glowing when I mentioned it.”  
  


Sophie rolled her eyes. Keefe snickered softly and lifted his hand to run his thumb down the side of her cheek. It took all of Sophie’s willpower not to nuzzle into the caress.  
  


Keefe shared his own warm smile. He dropped his hand in time with his voice. “Hey, Sophie?” Keefe drooped his forehead an inch closer as he reached for her hands. Sophie let them twine together, feeling her heart skip a couple beats.  
  


“Yeah?”  
  


“Can we be serious for a minute?”  
  


Sophie’s eyebrow slanted. “I thought we were being serious.”  
  


“Okay, put a pause on the Foster snark for just one second.”   
  


Sophie laughed. Keefe’s shoulders bounced for a few beats with her, and after they cleared the air by taking a breather, Keefe continued. “. . .Is it bad that I sort of want to stay here with you?”  
  


Sophie was still stuck on the high of messing around with him that the words felt like they were knocking her off her feet. She didn’t mean to, but the shock pulled her back physically, disconnecting their foreheads. Her face scrunched with her confusion, no sight of the smile she’d worn seconds before. “Stay here?” she parroted.  
  


Keefe winced. “I know it sounds crazy, but. . . Thinking about going back to all of  _ that _ . . .” Sophie didn’t miss the quiver in his voice that made him stop. He recollected himself, clearing his throat. Sophie felt him squeeze her fingers tighter. “Being here with you doesn’t sound bad.”  
  


Sophie’s eyes pricked. “That doesn’t sound bad to me, either.”   
  


Keefe looked up at her. She saw the miniscule spark of hope in his eyes, shrouded by the uncertainty and reluctance and fear and guilt and a million other emotions.  
  


He didn’t want to  _ force _ her to stay, but Keefe did want her to stay. He felt bad for bringing it up, that much was certain, from the way his strong shoulders had turned to that miserable slump he did whenever he was feeling sheepish.  
  


“But we can’t stay, Keefe,” she whispered. “People need us. People need  _ you _ .”  
  


“I know.” Keefe’s eyes glossed as he averted his gaze. “Sorry, shouldn’t have asked.”  
  


“No,” Sophie said, “it’s okay. I was—” Sophie paused and took a breath. “I was thinking about it, too, earlier. And as great as it sounds. . . It wouldn’t be the right thing to do.” She waited for him to look at her before she finished. “Everyone’s waiting for you, Keefe. They all miss you. They’re all  _ so _ worried. Did you know my Mom’s been freaking out? She asks me how you’re doing anytime we see each other. She’s come to visit you, too.”  
  


Keefe’s eyes sparked to life when she brought up the last part. They were almost as bright as they’d been when they’d pulled back to stare at each other after their kiss.  
  


Almost.  
  


Sophie watched him suck in some of his cheek to nibble on it. He wasn’t smiling, the waterline of his eyes brimmed and the crease between his eyebrows fluttered as he tried not to let his face melt too much. “She did?”  
  


Sophie dipped her chin. “Grady did, too. I know you two kind of butt heads, but he  _ really _ cares for you.”  
  


Keefe’s mouth twitched happily. He struggled to keep the smile down, hoping to hide it by swallowing and unabashedly turning his sights to their feet. The angle of the sun hit his eyes perfectly in that position, however, and Sophie committed to memory the sight of the sparkling tears brimmed against his lashes.  
  


Sadly, Sophie had to watch his smile slip. Keefe cleared his throat, shifting on his feet before he held her eyes in his.  
  


“. . .Has my dad visited me?”  
  


There was the question she had sort-of been hoping to avoid.   
  


When Cassius found out, he had tried to come and see Keefe. But with Keefe being unconscious, Sophie didn’t know what to do. She didn't know if Keefe wanted Cassius to see him. Cassius had never come to visit Keefe when he was conscious and injured, after all.  
  


“I didn’t know if you’d want him to see you or not, what with. . . It being him.” She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders. Sophie straightened up, knowing he needed answers. “I couldn’t ask you if you were okay with him visiting or not, so he did end up coming to see you.”  
  


“Did he say anything?”  
  


Sophie shook her head. “He. . . looked at you.”  
  


Cassius hadn’t sat down or spoke or cried or anything. It was like he’d entered statue mode when he’d gotten within a certain vicinity of Keefe’s cot. He’d stood for what felt like hours, blankly letting his eyes crawl over his son’s body.   
  


Sophie had tried to interpret what each flash of his eyes meant, but the search had only led her to a dead end. Cassius hadn’t given away any clue to what he had been feeling - a purposeful move, most likely. Cassius wasn’t one to let anyone see his weaknesses.  
  


But Sophie knew his son was considered just that: a weakness to his facade, that cold demeanor he tried so hard to sustain. Keefe was something Cassius cared for immensely (though his actions claimed otherwise), but didn’t want to coddle.  
  


It seemed Cassius retained that frame of mind even as Keefe wasn’t there to witness his dad’s reaction to his crippling state.

  
Cassius didn’t clench his fists. He didn’t blink rapidly. He didn’t sniffle or stiffen or anything. His shoulders remained relaxed and his breathing kept a perfect tempo.  But his mouth gave him away - or his cheek, rather. She could see the tiniest mound breaking his smooth and slim face. It was his tongue, poking into the inside of his cheek.  
  


Sophie and him had frozen their gazes together, accidentally, once she’d noticed. And after a few breaths, Cassius had left.  
  


Keefe made some sort of sound with his throat. Not a hum, and not a “hmph”, but something in between, meant to indicate he was listening.  
  


“I’m sorry.”  
  


“Nah. He’s never been one for speeches or ‘I miss you’s anyway.”  
  


“He misses you, Keefe,” Sophie assured. “I know he’s. . . He’s  _ bad  _ and he’s the _ last _ person that I want to defend, but he does miss you.”  
  


Keefe stared at their boots. “Is it bad that I don’t want to go back to him? I don’t. . . I don’t really feel like seeing him, after everything that’s been done. I know it’s a weird time to bring that up. I’ve been living with him for months in that house, now. I  _ agreed _ to live there with him. But I get really tired of his staring and his scoffing and. . .  _ Him _ .”  
  


Keefe blew out a shaky breath, seeking shelter from the intense moment by looking at the waves. Sophie reached up and ran a hand down his side, trying to subside his trembling.   
  


She squeezed their still-connected hands. “That’s not bad. He’s put you through a lot and he owes you space if that’s what you want.” She tried to peek and catch his line of sight. “Is that why you want to stay here?”  
  


“Part of it, I guess,” Keefe mumbled. “But part of it. . . Part of it is. . .”  
  


Keefe used his free hand to cover the hand she had on his ribcage. Sophie flushed as she felt him breathe out, something calm and almost relieved. When his thumb began to trace a pattern, Sophie knew the answer.  
  


It was her.  
  


“I don’t want to hog you. You have a life and that’s an insane thing to ask you, but. . . I don’t know. It’s safe here. For you and for me. And it’s not been  _ that _ bad so far.”  
  


“I did have to watch you bleed out again.”  
  


Keefe flinched when Sophie’s thumb traced his scar. Their eyes met and he swallowed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. But ignoring all the chaos of those memories, it’s been a pretty smooth ride. And we could. . . I don’t know, we could make something up. It’s already my head and you’re a Telepath, so I’m sure if we put our brains together we could do  _ something _ .”  
  


After watching her face in silence for a minute, he sighed. “I’m not trying to hog you,” he repeated, “that's not why I’m saying this. I don’t want to take you away from anybody. I mean, I already got a  _ lot _ of Foster time in here.”  
  


That made Sophie smile. And blush.  
  


“I’m afraid of stuff changing again,” Keefe said. “That’s all. And while I’m being honest, I  _ really _ don’t want to embrace it.”  
  


Sophie cringed. “I don’t want you to, either. Well, I  _ wouldn’t _ want you to, if you. . . Had a choice.”  
  


They held one another’s eyes.  
  


Sophie zoned in on how clear they were, hoping that meant he was doing okay. “You don’t have a choice, Keefe. I’m sorry.”  
  


Keefe nodded. His shaky exhale was enough for Sophie to know he understood what she’d meant by that. That was the end of their conversation.  
  


Keefe was going to have to wake up and face reality. No matter how cold or bleak it would turn out to be.  
  


Reality seemed lightyears away to Sophie after all the time she’d spent scouring Keefe’s mind: and she’d only been inside for a relatively short period of time. Keefe had been trapped in his daydreams for days on end -  _ weeks _ , to be more accurate. She wasn’t sure how he would adjust to being back in the real world.  
  


He’d  _ also _ have to get used to there being other people in reality. Which was weird for Sophie to think about.  
  


“Why me?”  
  


Keefe’s brows met. “What?”  
  


“Your memories,” she clarified, “they were all about me.”  
  


Keefe gave her a knowing look. Sophie waited for him to crack some joke and steer the conversation off course, but he said, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little wild about you, Foster.”  
  


Sophie’s had to be red from her head to her toes, at that point. Somehow the fact that he’d used the word  _ wild _ made it seem all-the-more blush-worthy.  
  


Keefe took her hands for what must have been the zillionth time. “But. . . it goes way beyond that. You’re one of my best friends. I trust you. You’re. . . My safe place.”  
  


Their eyes didn’t waver from one another as Sophie said, “You’re mine, too.”  
  


Keefe’s crooked smile turned sheepish. “You don’t  _ have _ to say it back if you don’t—“  
  


“I’m serious!” Sophie confirmed. “If I went into a coma and entered a deep state of mind where my brain tried to cocoon me from reality with memories, you’d find my head filled up with you.” Sophie’s mouth curved. “And Dex. I hope you don’t mind sharing my subconscious.”  
  


Keefe chuckled. “Being there in the first place is good enough for me.” He said it softly, like with so many things in the last minute, but it still made her cheeks threaten to illuminate.   
  


“Mm,” was how she responded. Then she smiled at him. They stood and exchanged the gentle looks, not sure of what was going to come, but certain that they’d handle it when they got there. “What now?”  
  


Keefe sighed through his nose. “We go home,” he confirmed.  
  


“You’re ready?”  
  


He snorted. “No. Not close. But, like you said, I don’t have a choice. People are waiting.” His voice dropped at the end.  
  


Sophie's smile turned bittersweet. “I’ll be there if you need anything. I just need you to ask.”  
  


"I know."  
  


She could hear from his tone that he wasn’t quite sure about it, though. Sophie knew he had a tough time asking for help. She struggled with it, too. So, that was one of the reasons why they’d always worked, Sophie guessed. They knew what the other was dealing with, so it was easy to help fix what needed mending.  
  


“You can do this, Keefe. It’s not the end of you. It’s. . . a beginning.”  
  


Keefe bobbed his head. “Yeah.” his voice trailed off at the end. His head continued to nod up and down, until a slow smile spread over his face. The bobbing stopped, but the smile grew wider. Keefe laughed a little, a delicate puff. “Yeah. I can.”  
  


He sounded shocked, like it was new information, and if Sophie would have laughed had it not felt so disheartening. She pressed a smile to her lips instead, nodding and looking at him as delicately as he could. Maybe if she held his eyes long and hard enough, he’d be able to look through her and see how heavily she believed in him. Maybe he’d see the awe she held for him locked up in her mind.  
  


Sophie caught sight of something black near Keefe’s neck. Sophie’s eyes narrowed. Keefe tried to follow Sophie’s distracted eyes with a furrowed brow. “What?” he asked.  
  


“You—”  
  


Sophie’s face paled. Her hand was the first part of her body to react, delacing from Keefe’s to grab Keefe’s wrist and press her thumb over a thickening line. “Keefe,” she gasped.  
  


It looked like shadows were spilling through him. All his veins were turning black as his pupils, contrasting beneath his pale skin. The blue and purple faded and  Keefe muttered colourful nonsense as they watched the ink trail through his arms and hands. When it ended, they froze, meeting one another’s eyes. They breathed heavily in silence, waiting for something else to happen.  
  


When Keefe didn’t scream out in agony or turn a different colour or react in any way besides going to look at his arms again, Sophie spoke.  
  


“D-does it hurt?”  
  


Keefe’s head shook from side to side. “No,” he whispered, shoulders shaking as his eyes stuck to his veins like glue. “No, but it looks weird.”  
  


Sophie had to agree. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the mental image of that sludge wriggling through his veins. She had to remind herself that wasn’t actually happening - it was just. . . Symbolic of him accepting the change.  
  


She hoped.  
  


“You’re  _ sure _ it doesn’t hurt?”  
  


Keefe grit his teeth and seethed. His voice was taut as he ground out, “You know what. . . It. . . It kinda does.”  
  


Sophie breathed out. Okay. No need to panic. She could figure this out — maybe another Telepath trick? Transferring more energy had fixed their problem the last time.   
  


“Where?”  
  


“Everywhere.”   
  


“What can I do?”   
  


Sophie didn’t expect him to reply so quickly — nor could she have ever guessed his answer. “You could kiss it better.”  
  


Sophie’s face fell.  
  


Keefe snorted in between his laughter. “Wow, unimpressed?”  
  


She made sure her eye roll held as much faux annoyance as possible so that she could mask the colour threatening to bloom across her face. “If you have it in you to joke like that, you’re doing just fine.”  
  


“Aw, no, come on. It’s, like, totally unbearable and the only way it can be fixed is—“ Keefe was cut off by his own snickering when Sophie shoved his chest. “No, I’m kidding, it’s fine. Just looks weird.” He held out his wrist to the sunlight to examine the black-as-tar veins. “Tam’s got some competition for most-emo boy with daddy issues.”  
  


Sophie gave her second dramatic eye roll in five minutes, and Keefe chuckled gently. “Okay, seriously — you don’t think I’m going to wake up with black veins, though, do you? Because that would be kind of. . . Worrying, all things considered.”  
  


Sophie chewed on her lip in thought. She stared at the smoky tendrils, eventually concluding, “No, I don’t think so. This is something everyone’s mind does. You’re pretty similar to Prentice, like this. He hid himself away in pieces while in his coma. It was a way of keeping himself safe from reality. You did exactly the same - just a little bit differently. You split yourself into memories to try to avoid embracing the. . . You know. But, you let me stitch those pieces back together. You, unlike Prentice, subconsciously wanted to come back.”  
  


Sophie ran her thumb along a vein. “Prentice did a trick similar to this. He changed his mental appearance and appeared to me as Jolie. And Cyrah. But that transformation was another form of tucking himself away. This. . . This is  _ you _ .” She looked him in the eye. “I think this means you’ve accepted yourself.”  
  


“Oh, well, great,” Keefe muttered sarcastically. “Looks fun.”  
  


Sophie tried to smile, keeping her words tender when she said, “I have a feeling it’ll be okay.”  
  


“Not when I'm involved.”  
  


“Hey, you could say the same about me.”  
  


Against his will, Keefe’s face cracked into a smirk. “We do keep things interesting.”  
  


Sophie snorted. “Sometimes a little  _ too _ interesting.” She retreated to examining his wrist as she brushed a vein with her finger again. “I do think it’s okay, though. You don’t seem in pain and if all my Healing Center visits have taught me anything, it’s that no pain is usually a good sign.”  
  


Keefe smirked. “That’s something we can agree on.”  
  


“Good.” Their smiles bloomed in sync for one last time. A part of her wanted to drag it out for as long as she could, but another knew it was time to go home. Sophie broke their silence with a gentle request. “Wake up for me.”  
  


Keefe dipped his head. “You’ve got it, Foster.”  
  


She soaked up the image of him smiling and the promise that went with it, before closing her eyes. Sophie took a deep breath as she tried to reach out to her physical body. She’d never felt so disconnected from it whenever she’d entered a mind before, so it was jarring to rediscover the tingling in her numbed fingertips. Once she started to feel the ache in her back and the dizzying fog in her head, she knew she was leaving.  
  


Every second that passed by, the more she focused, and the more she could feel her mind slipping back into touch with her body. She could feel her thighs on the edge of the cot, the drop on her stomach that felt like when you got off a rollercoaster, and the patter of her heartbeat.  
  


With force, she felt herself connect, mind and matter smashing back together, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open, but she quickly hissed and closed them as the light seared her vision. Voices erupted around her.  
  


Coming out of his mind was like coming out of water. Except instead of being stuck under for seconds, holding your breath like a normal person, Sophie - or her lungs, rather - felt like they’d been under for hours. Sophie’s chest burned so much it felt icy, and she hacked violently, screwing her eyes shut with a grimace when her vision muddled together. Her body shuddered involuntarily. Sophie felt herself leaning forward, but she couldn’t keep from crashing. Suddenly, two arms grabbed her shoulders and held her upright. However, that didn’t stop her head from lolling forward.  
  


Sophie had never reacted so physically to exiting someone’s subconscious, so the fact that dredging herself from Keefe’s had any affect on her spooked her. And Elwin. Or, what she thought was Elwin. Whoever it was, she could hear them asking her over and over and over if she was alright, but she couldn’t form words quite yet.  
  


Hazy colours flashed on the other side of her eyelids in time with a snapping sound, so Sophie knew Elwin was checking up on her. Tam and Fitz and Mr. Forkle were arguing in the background, or maybe just talking, but Sophie couldn’t process what all the noise was. Her skull was blaring with an annoying ringing sound that nearly drowned everything else out.  
  


At least Bullhorn wasn’t on her lap. Or anywhere near her, from what she could tell.  
  


Sophie hadn’t been aware how fast her breathing was until she had to gasp out in between pants, “How’s. . . How is he?” It didn’t sound like her voice when it came out - it sounded like some stranger that was in the middle of eating a bucket of rocks. Not herself.  
  


And for some reason everything felt. . . Blurry. She knew she’d just been with him in his head, but the memory of it felt like a dusty volume on an unreachable bookshelf. What had they said? Something . . . Something. . .  
  


“Sophie, can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”  
  


Sophie dipped her chin up and down. The action was met with a chorus of exhales - probably from relief, by the way the hands on her shoulders stopped crushing her so hard.   
  


Why was she so weak? It hasn’t been that long. Maybe half an hour. And why couldn’t she piece together what she’d said. . . Why. . .  
  


A flood of golden energy blasted into her mind.  _ Oh _ . Clarity crashed through her. smashing all her memories back into her brain in full, blazing colour and sound.   
  


The last moment replayed in her head, and Sophie would have blushed had she not felt so weary.  
  


Slowly, at the prodding of Elwin, she forced her eyes open. Tam was in front of her, holding her shoulders to keep her from folding forward. His expression was practically asking her if she was alright, but he knew better than to bombard her with questions when Elwin was already doing so.  
  


“How does—“  
  


Elwin was asking her how she felt. She looked to her side to see Elwin had pulled another cot closer to Keefe’s, which he sat on beside her.  
  


Though it still took a moment to process his words, she nodded. “Good.” Sophie didn’t  _ sound _ good, though. She sounded like she’d been without air for an hour.  
  


Sophie registered another hand on her arm when it slipped off. She twisted to peek behind her, grumbling when Elwin scolded her, warning moving too much would make her dizzy. But she’d already seen who it was. Fitz was sitting there. He’d probably been the one to send her that dose of energy.  
  


_ Thank you _ .  
  


She wasn’t sure if she’d transmitted it, given that Fitz didn’t respond, but maybe that was him trying not to overwhelm her. From the way Elwin had taken control of the situation and started ordering her to drink from what looked like every elixir in the room, she probably wasn’t looking her best.  
  


After ten elixirs, Sophie’s head cleared completely, and the room came into sharp focus. She scanned the eyes focused on her, turning until they landed on Keefe. Who was. . .  
  


She brushed her sweaty hair out of her face, eyebrows stringing together to form a crease on her head. “Why isn’t he awake?”  
  


“Miss Foster-”  
  


“No,” Sophie interjected, turning to Mr. Forkle, “before you start, it  _ worked _ . I know it did. He. . . He like. . . I don’t know, but I know he was up and I know I guided him out and he  _ talked _ to me-”  
  


“I’m not saying that you didn’t interrupt the sleeping pattern as you were supposed to, but even so, it’s not a guarantee that he’ll be able to drag himself out, even when he’s aware. He’s in a delicate state of mind and-”  
  


No, she wasn’t going to listen to that. Sophie started shaking her head. Her eyes closed. No, no, everything was going to be fine.  
  


Two hands met her shoulders and a part of her wanted to shrug Fitz and Tam off of her. She didn’t need to be consoled. She didn’t need to see them frown. Nothing was wrong. Keefe was fine - she’d spoken with him only a minute ago.  
  


“I’m not saying it’s impossible,” Mr. Forkle said, “He may very well just need a few minutes.”  
  


Sophie opened her eyes, not daring to meet Mr. Forkle’s gaze - she couldn’t stand having to see him looking worried - as she said, “Then that’s  _ it _ .”   
  


Tam squeezed her shoulder. She bit the inside of her lip. Sophie hadn’t even considered how difficult it must be for Tam, knowing he had been forced to help put Keefe into this state.  
  


She reached up and touched his hand. She didn’t know if he was one for physical affection, but she hoped it comforted him, at least some.  
  


So, they waited. Sophie and Tam and Fitz gripped one another’s hands until they turned pale.   
  


A minute turned into an hour. An hour bled into two. Tam and Fitz had to leave, but Sophie refused, no matter how many people coaxed her. Two hours wasted away into the evening. The sun disappeared and Mr. Forkle urged her to go home and get some rest. She hailed Edaline and Grady and told them she was staying. The night turned to morning. That agonizing morning stretched out into days.  
  


And Keefe didn’t wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so... here's where i drop the bomb. there's going to be another chapter because, while i could wrap up the story in this last chapter, i think we need to spend a bit more time with these characters.  
> ...buckle up.  
> (and if you've got time listen to Darker Things by Lily Kershaw - it's really been helping me plan chapter 15 and it kinda has the same vibes as the end of this chapter :) )  
> until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> kotlc tumblr: @theunmappedstar


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